Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
June 1985
Nantucket Island
I t wasn’t till Francis returned to the table as the guest of honor that Sophia was able to excuse herself for the bathroom. By then, her lower gut felt as though it was going through a woodchipper.
It was a kind of pain she’d never experienced.
“Be back soon, honey,” Francis said distractedly before turning to Bernard and asking him about something else. Sophia couldn’t concentrate. But in the back of her mind, she thought, You wouldn’t be a good father, Francis. You’re too selfish. Maybe all your ex-wives understood that about you. What took me so long?
And then she wondered where that came from.
Her vision blotchy, she clacked in heels from the courtyard down the long hallway, searching for the bathroom. Where was it? Why wasn’t there a sign? Suddenly, she panicked, and her vision blurred. She felt as though she was going to faint. And then what? The paparazzi would have a field day. They’d say she was too drunk to stand. They’d say she was “terrified that Francis was cheating.” They’d write lie after lie about her and leave her on the concrete walkway alone.
And Francis would grow enraged with her. He’d say that she ruined his big day.
But shouldn’t it be their big day?
Finally, she found a server who told her where the bathroom was located. As another wave of pain crashed over her, she pummeled her shoulder into the door and tore into the bathroom stall. Just before she closed the stall door behind her, she spotted her reflection in the mirror. Although she was pale, she was surprised to see just how beautiful she still looked. Her hair was shiny and perfect. Her makeup made her look refined.
Her reflection was worlds away from how she felt.
I’m getting away with it , she thought, then locked the door behind her.
Sophia said a small prayer before she checked on herself. Please let the baby be okay. Please let this be normal pregnancy pain. Please.
But she already knew there was nothing normal about this. There was blood. It wasn’t a lot of blood—nothing that made her think she was dying or that an ambulance needed to be called. But it was enough to indicate that whatever fledgling pregnancy she’d had was no more.
This was a period.
Sophia sat on the toilet and stared at her feet. Her heart was in her stomach, and her hair spilled down her shoulders and mixed with the sweat on her neck. Tears made her cheeks swampy. Under her breath, she cursed herself, “Why did you do this, Sophia? How could you let this happen? You were so happy, Sophia! Everything was going perfectly, Sophia!”
Right then, nobody could tell her it wasn’t her fault. Nobody could say that miscarriages happened all the time.
It felt like the end of the world.
It was terrible timing.
All Sophia wanted right now was to go back to the hotel. She wanted to wrap herself in all those white sheets and sob into a stack of downy pillows. She wanted Francis to abandon all this Hollywood glamour and console her.
But he never even knew about the baby.
It struck Sophia now that Francis might not believe her. Maybe he’d say that she was making the pregnancy up to steal away his attention on “his big night.” She certainly didn’t want to ruin the Nantucket Gala! She wanted to raise funds for The Brutal Horizon . It was her favorite script!
But what was she going to do?
She had to force herself through the rest of the night. She had to pretend to be happy. She had to clean herself up.
But Sophia didn’t have anything for her period. Slumped over in the stall, she pondered what to do. Maybe she could flag down a server and ask for help. Perhaps someone who worked at the hotel had supplies. Maybe there was a way out of this conundrum.
Suddenly, as though God himself had heard her prayers, the bathroom door opened, and a little voice rang out. “Sophia? Are you in here?”
“Greta!” Sophia’s heart spasmed. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Greta, I’m in here!”
Greta’s high heels appeared under the bathroom door and pointed out as though she were a ballerina about to practice a plié. “What’s wrong, honey?” Greta’s voice was tentative, and Sophia had the sense that this was how Greta spoke to her own children.
“Oh, Greta. I feel so stupid.” Sophia reached for the door and unlatched it. “Come in. Quick.”
Greta tucked herself into the stall and pressed herself against the door. Her brow was furrowed. “You were gone for ages. I got worried.”
“Is Francis upset?”
Greta hesitated as though she wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“I mean, did he notice I was gone?”
“He’s really busy, Soph. You know how these men are.”
Sophia took that to mean that Francis barely noticed her at all.
Another sob welled in her throat.
“Greta, I got my period,” she whispered.
Greta pressed the flat of her palm on her forehead. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”
Sophia’s shoulders shook. Right now, it felt as though she and Greta were the only two women in the world. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, I was pregnant. I told you I was pregnant.”
Greta touched Sophia’s shoulder. “These things happen, honey. It’s so incredibly common. I had a miscarriage between Quentin and Alana. I never talk about it. It was painful, but it didn’t mess anything up for me physically. It was so early that I didn’t even go to the hospital. I’ve always been grateful for that.”
Sophia sniffled. “I got my hopes up, you know?
“I know. It’s always so exciting.” Greta squatted down so that her hands rested on Sophia’s knees. “Do you want to go back to the hotel? Or back home to The Copperfield House with me? Quentin has a cold, and I’m happy to relieve the babysitter. You know I find these Hollywood events tiresome, anyway.”
Sophia shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t go to the hotel. I have to pretend everything is all right.”
Greta nodded. “Okay.”
“Will you stay with me?”
Greta grimaced and nodded.
“The thing is, I don’t have anything. I can’t clean myself up.” Sophia felt even more pathetic.
Greta unclasped her purse and handed Sophia a tampon. Sophia took it and closed her eyes. It felt as though a thousand waves of grief were crashing in on her.
“Like I said,” Greta whispered, “you can try again soon. Alana was born just a year after my miscarriage.”
Sophia wasn’t sure there would be a next time. She felt utterly hopeless.
Back at the table, Sophia and Greta sat across from one another and put on fake, plastic smiles. Bernard, Francis, and another handsome Hollywood director were drinking scotch, and a dance troupe was performing on stage—men and women in tuxedos and ballroom gowns.
Sophia hailed a server and took two glasses, one for her and one for Greta. But when Greta told her she already had a glass, Sophia drank both herself.
Under her breath, Greta said, “Be careful, okay? I know you want to damage yourself right now. But it isn’t worth it.”
Sophia wanted to ask, What’s “worth it” in this life? Instead, she ordered another drink and told Greta not to worry. “I’m just trying to have fun,” she said.
Greta gave her a look that meant she was watching her like a hawk.
“Alana will have all kinds of trouble when she’s a teenager,” Sophia tried to joke, her words slurring together. “She’s already such a pretty little girl.”
Greta didn’t seem keen on talking about her difficult future. It was clear she preferred to live in the here and now. It was a level of practicality Sophia wasn’t sure she’d ever master.
Suddenly, Sophia was out on the dance floor with Francis. She couldn’t remember him asking, nor could she remember agreeing. But now, his arm was around her lower back, and they whirled too quickly to the sounds of the brass band. It was music from the 1920s that transported her back to a forgotten era. Sophia laughed and let her head loll around. Francis said, “We’re ten thousand away from our goal, Sophia. Look at all these people. They’re jealous of us. They want what we have.” He snorted. “And you’re the prettiest woman in the room. Every eye is upon you.”
Sophia scanned the crowd for some sense of what he said, but she was too drunk. Faces blurred together.
She laughed. “It’s the best night we’ve had in ages, Francis.”
As she said it, she felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces.
When the song ended, Sophia returned to the table to find Greta, but she wasn’t in her seat. When she asked Bernard where she was, he said he wasn’t sure. “She might have run off to call the babysitter. She’s worried about our son.”
Sophia shifted her weight from foot to foot. She felt on the verge of tears again. Maybe she could dip back into the bathroom, have a little cry, clean herself up, and return for another couple of drinks. It wasn’t like Francis wasn’t drunk, too. Maybe nobody would notice. Perhaps she’d escape ridicule.
Before you know it, you’ll be back at the hotel. Before you know it, you’ll be gone.
Sophia limped down the hallway. The brand-new heels she’d bought for the occasion were digging into her skin. Just before she opened the door, she removed them and carried them inside. This was a top hotel, after all. Surely, the bathroom tiles were as clean as the dinner plates.
But when she stepped into the bathroom, she discovered she wasn’t alone. Her stomach seized.
There at the sink stood Natalie Masterson, fixing her lipstick. Their eyes connected in the mirror. Sophia bit her tongue to keep herself from sobbing.
“Sophia!” Natalie capped her lipstick and turned around. She looked joyous.
Sophia raised her chin and concentrated hard on walking straight. Natalie was a bit fuzzy at the edges as though she, too, were tipsy.
“It’s been an incredible night, hasn’t it? I heard a rumor that we’re just ten grand away from our goal,” Natalie gushed. “Every few minutes, I pinch myself. By October, we’ll be in France and Italy, filming together. We’ll be dining in piazzas and drinking the best red wine the world has to offer. Back when we worked on that World War II film, this was our dream. Remember? But even I never believed we would get this far.”
Sophia raised the corners of her lips. She had to match Natalie’s intensity. “You’re going to love it, Natalie. You really will.”
Natalie nodded. “You really saved me, Sophia. For so many years, I was all alone, thinking it was over and I was washed up. But you were right when you said we’re not old. Not yet. We’re twenty-seven, for goodness’ sake. We have our entire lives ahead of us. And Francis’s scripts always give such breadth and empathy to female characters. I could imagine him writing scripts about older women, even. Women who don’t usually get screen time.” A blush crawled up her chest. “I’m rambling, Sophia. I’m sorry.” She laughed. “You know how I get.”
Sophia washed her hands and used the tips of her fingers to wet the sweaty back of her neck. When she looked at Natalie again, Natalie was using a dark powder to highlight her eyebrows. Sophia considered knocking the wand from her hand.
Get ahold of yourself, Sophia. Natalie is your friend. The sooner you get that through your head, the better.
But that was when she smelled it.
It was lilac. It was rose. It was the same scent lurking in the air of the hotel room she shared with Francis. And here it was, wafting off the perfect, glowing skin of film actress and husband-thief Natalie Masterson.
Sophia’s mouth went dry.
Natalie capped her eyebrow powder and raised her shoulders. She looked more like a Midwestern cheerleader allowed to play dress-up. Sophia flared her nostrils to take in the perfume again. Should she say something? Oh, but she didn’t want to let Natalie know she knew.
“Save me a dance, Soph?” Natalie asked.
“Anything for an old friend, Nat.”
Sophia’s heart gushed with jealousy.
But just before Natalie left the bathroom, Sophia twisted around and asked Natalie a question that was never far from her mind. “What on earth happened to Dean Chatterly?”
At the mention of her handsome up-and-coming actor ex, all the color drained from Natalie’s face. Her eyes found the tips of her shoes. “Oh, Dean. I really loved him, you know.”
“I know you did.”
Natalie’s lower lip bounced.
Sophia wondered if she was really that good of an actress. Did she know what happened to Dean? Was she hiding something?
The circumstances of Dean’s death had been and still were deemed mysterious. After a long run around the home he’d shared with Natalie, he’d disappeared. For three weeks, the police had looked for him, only for his body to turn up in the canyon. It was made to look like Dean had fallen during his run. But two of their neighbors said they’d seen Dean return from his run, towel off in his driveway, and shoot hoops.
“I always told him he exercised too hard,” Natalie said, sighing clumsily. “But he was sure better abs, muscles, and legs were just around the corner. He was sure his good looks meant he would never die.”
“I guess we all think that to a certain degree,” Sophia said.
Natalie sighed and pressed open the door. After a moment’s pause, she forced her voice to brighten again. “I really do demand a dance. Come find me.”
She disappeared.
Sophia stood clutching both sides of the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Just as she’d looked during the early moments of her miscarriage, she was pale but beautiful, like a snow queen.
A single thought thundered through her. My husband is having an affair.
The perfume was proof. But what could she do about it? Francis Bianchi had eternal power over her. She was trapped.