Читать книгу California Girls - Susan Mallery, Susan Mallery - Страница 14

Finola had a little trouble reading the digital clock on the nightstand. The numbers were big enough and even projected onto the ceiling. The problem wasn’t the size of the display or the brightness—it was that they wouldn’t stop moving.

Back and forth, they jumped like numerical fleas doing a dance that made her head spin. Dang numbers, she thought, wondering if the concept was funny enough to make her smile because nothing else had.

She was pretty sure she was still drunk. She’d been chugging vodka steadily since, oh, sometime Friday night, and now it was Sunday. She still hurt all over and she constantly felt sick and inside her chest, where her heart was supposed to be, was just a hole.

She looked back at the clock and saw it was maybe nine forty. At night, she told herself, looking out the window just to be sure.

Yup, it was dark, so nighttime. Nine forty on Sunday night. A day she’d spent entirely alone because, despite his promise, Nigel had never stopped by.

She’d known he wouldn’t, she admitted, but only to herself. There was no way he would want to talk to her after what he’d done. Nigel loved pointing out her flaws but didn’t like hearing about his own. There was no way to put this on her, no matter how he tried, so of course he was avoiding her. It was just a character flaw.

She’d been telling herself that for hours and hoping that, at some point, she would believe it. Only now, lying on their bed, in their bedroom, in their house, knowing he was probably fucking Treasure right this second, she was finding it harder and harder to believe that was all it was. Her spinning head and muddled mind weren’t enough to distract her from a horrific truth. That Nigel hadn’t failed to come by because he was ashamed or because he was busy having sex. He hadn’t come by because he wasn’t here anymore.

In LA, she clarified for herself. She wasn’t thinking he was dead.

She reached for her tablet, put it down, then swore under her breath. After sitting up, she drank more vodka, grimacing when she realized the ice had melted, diluting her drink. Stupid laws of physics or whatever it was that controlled melting ice cubes. She didn’t want watery vodka, she wanted cold vodka.

She opened the tablet and went directly to the TMZ home page. She didn’t have to look hard to see the headline: Does Treasure Have a New Man?

Her vision blurred more as she started crying again. Finola angrily brushed away the ridiculous, useless tears and clicked on the link that took her to the page. There were more pictures than text, which was fine with her. The last thing she wanted to do was to give herself a headache from reading impossibly small and moving print.

Instead, she studied the photos, trying not to care about how young Treasure was and how incredible she looked in a very tiny bikini.

“Look at her ass!”

Finola thought about the hours she spent working out and how every year it was just a little bit harder to keep things high and tight and firm.

Life was many things, but fair wasn’t one of them, she told herself.

There were more pictures, all of them of Treasure. Once Finola had accepted the other woman’s incredible body, she started paying more attention to where the pictures had been taken. One word jumped out at her. “Bahamas.” Her already shaky stomach sank.

“He’s not there,” she whispered, even though she knew he had to be. She scanned the pictures again, looking more closely at the people in the background. No Nigel, no Nigel, no...

She turned back to one of the pictures she’d already studied, peering at it more closely. There, in the background. The image was blurry, but she recognized the man. He was with her. Nigel had gone to the Bahamas with Treasure.

“Bastard!”

She reached for her drink, only to remember the watery contents, then bounded out of bed. That last thing was a mistake as the room spun and her stomach lurched. She hung on to the nightstand to steady herself. When she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to fall over, she headed for the landing and, clinging to the railing, made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

There were two empty bottles of vodka on the counter. A third still had most of its contents. She dumped the tepid liquid from her glass into the sink, added ice, then poured in more vodka. After two big gulps, she set the glass on the counter and closed her eyes.

Nigel had gone away with his twenty-three-year-old mistress. Right now they were together, having sex or mocking her or something awful and hideous. He’d left her, just like that, with no warning. He’d left her on the weekend she’d wanted to tell him she was ready to get pregnant.

Sadness overwhelmed her. Sadness for what had been lost. For all her hope of him being sorry and them getting over this, she honest to God didn’t know if that was possible. Even before she decided if she was willing to forgive him or not, Nigel had to come home and that sure wasn’t happening now.

Tears returned, along with frustration and anger and hurt. She hated Nigel, hated him. She didn’t want him dead, she wanted him punished and humiliated. She wanted him naked and in public with lines of people pointing and laughing at his dick. She wanted him tied up and left in a public square until he was forced to pee and shit on himself. She wanted his fingers broken so badly, they would never heal right and he would have to stop doing surgery. But mostly she wanted it to be last Thursday so she didn’t know about the affair and she didn’t have to hurt this much.

She went back to their bedroom and walked into his closet. Finola grabbed an armful of the clothes he hadn’t taken. She carted them over to the French doors, then stepped out onto the balcony. She didn’t hesitate at all—she simply flung the clothes off the balcony, onto the patio below. A few shirts fluttered into the pool.

She went back inside and repeated her actions until all his clothes were in the backyard. The last to go was his winter coat—a beautiful camel-colored cashmere that he wore when they went back East. She tossed it, hurling it as hard as she could so it would fall into the chlorinated water. When she was done, she went inside. She sank onto the bathroom floor and rested her head on her raised knees.

He was gone, she thought to herself. Just gone. He’d left her and their marriage as if he’d never loved her. The leaving was bad enough but to have chosen a public figure for his transgression was just as unforgivable. Because under the torment of having lost her husband and her marriage was an even more devastating truth.

Unlike most women going through this, her anguish would not be played out in private. Instead the whole world was going to know. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but at some point a photographer would put the pieces together. In her line of work, there were very few secrets. Until today, she hadn’t cared about that. She wasn’t a secret kind of person. But all that had changed and now it was just a matter of time until she was put on trial by a fickle public and a hungry, uncaring press. Losing Nigel had nearly killed her—what was going to be left when she lost herself?

* * *

Ali got through work on Monday with a minimum of fuss, mostly because she didn’t tell anyone about Glen. Yes, it was probably the coward’s way out, but she was fine with that. Eventually she would have to come clean, but not right this second.

She finished her quarterly inventory inspection by noon, then filled in when the quality guy had to leave early to go pick up his kid. She measured parts against the specs and declared them good to go, all the while thinking only positive thoughts. She spent her lunch break making phone calls from the privacy of her car, and canceled the wedding venue and the caterer. Daniel was taking care of the photographer she’d hired.

After finishing her calls, she stayed in her car until her break was officially over. She leaned back against the seat and marveled at life’s sense of humor.

The brother she’d assumed was dependable and normal and honorable had turned out to be a total douchebag while the brother who was a little dangerous and put her on edge had turned out to be the world’s nicest guy.

At the Dodger game, Daniel had been nothing but charming. He’d distracted her with funny stories from the world of motocross. He’d stuffed her with hot dogs, peanuts and beer and had reminded her to put on sunscreen. Before they’d left, he’d insisted on buying her an official Dodger T-shirt and baseball cap. She’d gone from wary to grateful. At this point, she didn’t much care if she was his good deed project for the year. Daniel was a good man and he was determined to help her. Only a fool would say no to that.

Now if only she could figure out a way to ask him to tell her mother for her, things would really be looking up, but alas, no. That wouldn’t be right. He’d been incredibly kind to her—she wouldn’t repay that by making him face her mother. And if she was willing to be that awful, she would gain nothing. Her mother would still want to hear all the gory details from her regardless.

Ali finished her shift and like the dutiful daughter she mostly aspired to be, made her way from Van Nuys to Burbank, avoiding the insanely crowded freeway. She took Victory east, then cut across on North Buena Vista, heading to her mother’s side of Burbank. Traffic was brutal, but she was in no hurry and didn’t mind missing a few lights. Eventually, however, she arrived on the narrow residential street where she’d grown up. She parked in front of the house and braced herself for what was to come. In theory her mother should be totally on her side, but in this family, unless you were Finola, that was never a sure thing.

The house itself was typical for the neighborhood. A one-and-a-half-story ranch with a porch in front and a detached garage. Upstairs was a bonus room Ali’s mother had used for crafts and storage. On the main floor there were four bedrooms, two bathrooms and a family room that had been added on when Ali had been five or six. The sisters hadn’t shared a bedroom, but the three of them had shared a bathroom, which had turned out to be surprisingly easy. By the time Ali wanted to spend time on her hair and experiment with makeup, Finola had long since left for college and Zennie had never been one to primp.

Ali’s mother had gotten the house in the divorce. Mary Jo always complained it was too big for her, but she’d been loath to move until a couple of months ago when she’d announced she was buying a friend’s cottage near the ocean in Redondo Beach. Selling the family home first meant getting rid of thirty-plus years of memories and crap, something she expected her daughters to help with. Ali figured odds were at least even that the first, or possibly second thing her mother said when she found out about her broken engagement was that Ali would now have more time to help with the purge.

She pulled into the driveway next to her mother’s silver Civic then braced herself for what was to come. In theory, her mother should be someone she could turn to in a time of need for comfort and advice. What was the old saying? Her mother should be a soft place to fall. But whoever had come up with that one had never had Mary Jo for a mother.

Ali got out. She’d texted her mother earlier, saying she wanted to stop by without saying why. Now, as she walked to the front door, she braced herself for whatever was to come.

She knocked once and opened the door. “Hey, Mom, it’s me.”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

Ali made her way through the living room to the large eat-in kitchen where her mother sat at the table working on what she would guess was a script. In the past couple of years, Mary Jo had joined a local theater group. She mostly wrote plays and directed, which was kind of weird considering she’d been in retail her whole life, but if it made her happy, then sure.

Her mother looked up as she walked into the kitchen. She slid off her glasses and set them on the table. Mary Jo had always been a beauty. It wasn’t anything Ali could relate to—she looked more like her father, which was okay, but also kind of a drag, truth be told. Growing up with a beautiful mother and stunning older sister hadn’t been easy. Even Zennie was striking, while Ali was left being nothing other than almost average.

“What?” her mother demanded. “Something happened. I knew it the second I read your text.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

Her mother only stared at her. “Just tell me. Did you get fired?”

Ali told herself not to be surprised. Of course her mother would think the worst and assume it was all Ali’s fault. Although considering her news, maybe her mother wasn’t totally wrong.

She took a seat at the old round wooden table and set her bag on the floor. “I didn’t get fired. Things are great at work. It’s Glen. We, ah... He broke off the engagement.”

“What? Are you kidding? You’re getting married in six-plus weeks. The invitations have gone out. What happened? Why did he change his mind?”

“I have no idea. He won’t talk to me. He sent his brother to tell me, and we haven’t had a conversation since I got the news. All communication has been via text and it’s been more about logistics than anything else.”

Ali was pleased she got through her little speech without even tearing up. To be honest, she was much more concerned about her mother’s reaction than her own pain.

“You must have done something,” her mother muttered. “What did you say to him that made him so mad?”

Ali felt something odd inside and realized it was righteous indignation. She was so thrilled to feel something other than hurt or shame that she decided to indulge.

“Why do you always do that?” she asked, her voice firm. “Why do you have to assume I did anything wrong? Maybe Glen’s a dick. He didn’t even bother telling me himself. He sent someone else to do his dirty work. For what it’s worth, he’s refusing to help cancel the wedding. I’m on my own with that. So for once, could you possibly consider that maybe I didn’t screw up?”

Her mother sighed. “I can see you’re upset.”

“Yeah, just a little. The guy I thought I was going to marry and love forever dumped me. Upset might be a good word.”

Her mother turned over the script and rested her hands on the table. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sure you’re not to blame. Anyone who would act like that isn’t right in the head. Have you considered apologizing and asking if he’ll take you back?”

“Mom!”

“What? It’s a reasonable question.”

“It assumes, once again, I did something wrong. Have you considered the possibility that Glen changed his mind and then was too much of a coward to deal with the consequences? This totally came out of the blue. Besides, even if it hadn’t, after the way he’s acted, I don’t want him back. I could never trust him.”

Ali had spoken from the heart and even she was surprised by those last words. Was it true? Did she really not want Glen back? And if so, when had she made that decision?

“It’s just he was such a nice man and an engineer. He would always have a good job.”

“Mo-om!”

“Fine. You’re well rid of him.” Mary Jo pressed her lips together. “I’d so been hoping for grandchildren. I’m not getting any younger.”

“You’re barely in your fifties.”

“All my friends have grandchildren.”

It was a familiar refrain and one Ali didn’t want to hear today. “I’m sorry if the consequences of my broken engagement are getting in the way of your wants and needs.”

“There’s no need to say it like that.”

“Mom, I’m suffering here and you’re making it about you.”

“I’m not. I’m sharing how I feel. Is that a crime, now? I’m sorry about the engagement. I really am. I had high hopes for you and Glen. If you’re looking for a distraction, you can help me go through the house. There’s plenty here that needs doing.”

“While that sounds amazing, I still have the wedding to unwind. It’s a lot of work and I can’t count on Glen.” Daniel was helping, but this didn’t seem to be the time to mention that. Her mother would assume he was the reason for the breakup, which was so ridiculous as to be laughable. Ali had seen a couple of Daniel’s girlfriends and they all had Victoria’s Secret model potential. As if.

“Well, you can help me after you’re done canceling the wedding,” her mother said. “What are you going to do about your apartment? Isn’t your lease up?”

Ali felt the room dip and sway. Not an earthquake, she thought grimly. Nothing that simple and predictable. Nope, her reaction was pure shock because until her mother had asked, she hadn’t once even thought about her apartment.

“No,” she breathed. “No, no, no.”

“Ali, you simply have to be more responsible,” her mother began.

“Not now,” she said firmly, even as her mind struggled to figure out a plan and fast.

Foolishly, she’d assumed she would be moving in with Glen after they were married. He had a nice little condo in Pasadena, and while her commute would be longer, hey, she was getting married, so of course they would live together. To that end, she’d given notice on her apartment and had to be out a couple of weeks before what would have been her wedding date.

She and Glen had worked it all out—what furniture they would keep, what they would get rid of. Most of hers was to go, which had been fine because his was nicer and she didn’t feel a deep sense of commitment to her secondhand dresser or coffee table.

“I’m going to have to talk to the building manager,” she said.

“Hopefully they haven’t rented the place out from under you,” her mother said. “If they have, you’re going to have to find somewhere else. Rents are going up.”

“Mom, this isn’t helping.”

“I’m simply pointing out the reality of your situation.”

“I’m clear on the reality of my situation.”

“You don’t seem to be.” Her mother studied her for a second, then sighed. “I suppose you could move back here, with me. You could stay in your old room and help me pack up the house.”

Or not, Ali thought, hoping the wave of horror washing through her didn’t show on her face. Move back here? Um, no way, nohow. She might not be moving forward in her life, but that was no excuse for moving backward. Not to mention the hell of having to deal with her mother 24/7.

“That’s very generous of you,” she said evenly. “Thanks, Mom. Let me figure a few things out before I commit.” Which was a very polite version of what she wanted to be saying. “I don’t think they’ve rented out my place yet so I’ll just keep that.”

“If you say so.”

Ali glanced at the rooster clock on the wall. “I should, ah, be going. I want to talk to my building manager before she leaves.”

Her mother stood and hugged her. “I am sorry about Glen. You’ll find someone else eventually, Ali. Goodness knows you work with men all day long. Aren’t any of them dateable?”

“It’s complicated, Mom.” Mostly because dating someone at work would be dumb and for reasons she couldn’t understand, she was more best friend than babe. No one ever asked her out or hit on her or even made lewd remarks. Not that she would encourage the latter, but was just once too much to ask?

On the way to the front door, Ali paused by the big grandfather clock in the living room. It was old and ornate and definitely not in style right now, but she had always loved it. Her bedroom had been the one closest to the living room, so she heard the chimes all night. When she’d been younger, she’d thought the clock chimed only for her.

“Mom, are you taking the clock with you when you move?”

“That monstrosity? No. It’s old and ugly. Besides, the salt air would destroy it. Why?”

“I’d like it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t even have a place to live. What would you do with a grandfather clock?”

Ali ignored the sense of always being the afterthought kid. “Zennie isn’t going to want anything to do with it and Finola doesn’t care about it. Why can’t I have it?”

“Do you really need to take this on right now? We’ll talk later. Now go save your apartment.”

Her mother hugged her and shooed her out the door. Ali told herself not to take any of it personally—it was just her mother’s way. Only it was difficult not to feel slighted and dismissed—feelings she’d grown up with.

Finola was clearly her mother’s favorite. Mary Jo had married young and then had tragically lost her husband in a car accident. Finola had been the result of their undying love. When Mary Jo had married Bill, everyone had known she was settling. It had taken her a good twenty-plus years to figure it out for herself.

Zennie was their firstborn and Bill could not have been more smitten with his daughter. Ali wasn’t sure why they’d bothered having another kid. Maybe Bill had secretly hoped for a boy or maybe she’d been an accident. Either way, she was no one’s special child. Everyone knew parents weren’t supposed to show preference for one child over another, but in her house, the lines had been clearly drawn.

“Apartment first, mope later,” she told herself as she got in her car and headed home.

She got to her apartment in North Hollywood a good thirty minutes before the offices closed. Elema, the building manager, was in her office when Ali knocked on the open door.

The fiftysomething woman smiled at her. “How are the wedding plans going? You’re already getting packages delivered here. It’s very exciting. Oh, Sally said someone dropped off an envelope for you earlier.” Elema pulled it out of her desk and handed it over.

Ali glanced at the plain white envelope. She recognized Glen’s handwriting and hoped a big fat check was inside. Or at least one for enough to cover half the expenses. She tucked it in her back pocket and took a bracing breath.

“Yes, well, that’s what I want to talk to you about,” she said, settling in the chair by the desk. “Glen and I have gone our separate ways.”

Elema’s smile faded. “Ali, no. What happened? He seemed like such a nice man. Oh, this makes me so sad. Are you all right?”

“I’m getting there. The thing is, I won’t be moving and I was hoping to stay in my apartment.”

Elema’s mouth twisted. “I’m sorry, but we’ve already rented your place. You know how it is—the building is newer and on a quiet street. We usually have a waiting list. They’re a nice young couple with excellent credit.”

Ali had done a great job of holding it all together through her visit with her mother and on the drive home. Now she felt her fragile connection to anything close to calm fade away.

“Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“We’ve signed a lease with them. We can’t break it.” Her expression was sympathetic. “I’m going to have a studio available in two months, if you’d be interested in that. It’s smaller than what you have now, of course, and a hundred and sixty dollars more a month.” One shoulder rose and lowered. “Rents are climbing. The new lease on your place is three hundred dollars more than what you’re paying.”

How was that possible? And if rents were more here, they would be higher everywhere else. Damn Glen—he’d screwed with her life in more ways than she would have thought possible. Why had she ever trusted him or believed in him? She’d been a fool and now there was no going back.

“I’m really sorry,” Elema added. “If you want I can try to make some calls to other properties I know of to see what they have.”

“That’s sweet. Let me think about this for a while. If I need some help, I’ll get back to you.”

“I’ll be here. And I’m really sorry about Glen. Hopefully you can work it out and still get married.”

Rather than answer, Ali offered a fake smile. She made her way to her apartment before giving in to the urge to scream. After throwing herself on her sofa, she pressed her face against a throw pillow and let loose.

“Dammit all to hell, why is this happening to me?”

She kicked her feet for good measure, then rolled onto her back and sucked in a breath. Tears flowed down her temples and into her hair.

This was so not fair, she thought, hugging the pillow. First the wedding and now the apartment. Stupid, awful Glen. May he rot in hell.

She lay there for several minutes, alternately crying and yelling into the pillow, then sat up and wiped her face. She pulled the envelope from her back pocket. At least the pressure of paying off the wedding would be eased a little, she thought, opening the envelope and pulling out the check.

Five hundred dollars. He’d written her a check for five hundred dollars. Canceling the wedding would cost her at least five thousand. Maybe more. Plus there was her dress—that was money she would never see again. Now she had to worry about finding a place and first and last months’ rent and moving her stuff and paying off the stupid wedding.

Hatred rose up inside of her, boiling into anger and disgust. “Wherever you are, rat bastard, I hope you get food poisoning and a rash and go bald. I hate you. Hate you!”

She threw the pillow against the wall. It was less satisfying than when she’d thrown her phone, but she couldn’t afford another replacement. Then she curled up on the sofa and told herself she was going to feel sorry for herself for the whole night. In the morning she would be strong, but for now there was just pity and maybe some brownies she’d stashed in the freezer. Because right now, her life totally and completely sucked.