Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Oliver and I sit in the waiting room outside Miriam’s office. “Thank you,” he whispers over the burbling fountain, “for doing this.”
“Of course.” Petra is calling me again but I send it to voicemail, realizing I completely forgot to call her back after the long weekend. “Thanks for squeezing it in so early.” We’re both being overly polite, which is my secret hope for the entire hour. In preparation for our first session, I downloaded a new family calendar app and packed a day planner and colored pens in my purse. I’ve let myself daydream about what it could feel like to get to a place where I drop Emmy at Oliver’s and I don’t feel a sinking, panicky dread as I walk back to my car like I’ve left something important behind.
“I don’t know what it will be,” Oliver says, “but maybe Miriam will help with some of the lingering stuff that still needs to get sorted.”
“Lingering stuff?” My heart drops. This doesn’t sound like color-coded schedules.
The door to the inner office opens and Miriam greets us.
We take our familiar spots on opposite ends of the couch—the same exact spots we sat and fought in months ago, just before Oliver moved out. I half expect them to still be warm.
“It’s wonderful to see you again.” Miriam settles into her chair and crosses her ankles. “Oliver explained to me when he made the appointment that you’re in the middle of a separation?”
“Yes. We’re hoping for some tips on how to do it right,” I say. “If there is a right way. For Emmy.”
“Of course. It’s very admirable to still be committed to having the healthiest relationship possible. But since it’s been a while, bring me up to speed. Let’s have both of you state how you feel, sitting here today, next to each other.”
Of course it was magical thinking to hope we could come to therapy and avoid talking about feelings. And yet…I can feel the part of me that just wanted to talk calendars and parenting tips slowly deflate, leaving the raw part of me exposed—the part that has to deal with divorcing Oliver.
Beside me, Oliver exhales as if his bubble has been punctured too. “I feel sad. And also like an asshole. Who made a lot of mistakes.”
I look up from my lap, surprised. This couch is the scene of blame and recrimination, not apologies.
Then he says, “I think we both made a lot of mistakes. Diana too.”
There it is. I sit up straighter, crossing my legs and perching myself on the edge of the couch.
“Okay, but let’s stay on you for a minute, Oliver.”
Thank you, Miriam.
Oliver shifts uncomfortably. “I’ve been unhappy for so long and a part of me blamed Diana for that unhappiness. And that wasn’t fair.”
Miriam talks as she scribbles notes. “And what do you think about today, when you think about the source of your unhappiness?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t understand it for so long. It was just something I felt in my body. And then one day…” Oliver’s voice hitches. He rubs his face, the way he does when he’s tired. “One day I was walking into the office and my chest started pounding. And then it got tight, so tight that I couldn’t catch a good breath. I stumbled back to my car and I was gulping like a sad, bigmouthed fish and I thought I was having a heart attack. I was sweating, a cold sweat, just like they say happens. I couldn’t move. And it was so pathetic, crouching alone in the office parking lot, clutching on to the bumper of my car, thinking I might die. And I kept thinking, Please don’t let Diana find me like this. ”
“Oliver, when was this? You never told me—”
Oliver shakes his head. “It wasn’t a heart attack. It was a panic attack.”
“That must have been very scary.” Miriam’s voice is calm.
“It was eye-opening. I knew I had to do something. It’s like I had to blow up the life I was living to find a path to get out of it.”
“So you knew you needed to change, but you weren’t sure how.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“I wanted to quit that job for so many years. Quit working for my father. But I kept thinking I could still impress him. Like I would crack the code one day and win him over. I know, it’s ridiculous. You know him, he doesn’t change his opinion of anyone.”
“Oliver, he’s proud of you…” I picture Oliver in Allen’s office, visible through the glass, Allen picking on him for who knows what, Oliver’s shoulders slumped.
“Oliver, what do you hear when Diana says that?”
“I appreciate her being nice. But there’s no truth in it.”
“And what else?”
“It’s confusing. With Emmy, she could impress me by whistling. She doesn’t even have to do it correctly. She can try and I’ll be impressed. Like, genuinely impressed. I didn’t understand how my father couldn’t give me something. The bare minimum.”
“He loves you, Oliver.”
“He doesn’t. He scares me. And that’s not love.”
“Of course he does.”
“Please, stop. It was hard enough to come to this place.”
“What place?”
Oliver pauses before he speaks. “My dad just doesn’t like me. Nothing I do will ever be enough for him.”
My heart sinks. I’ve spent years watching Oliver try to please his father. I would take little acknowledgments and turn them into big wins just so Oliver wouldn’t one day say this sentence out loud.
I try to imagine the thousands of tiny but painful admissions it took for Oliver to get to this. I had encouraged their relationship. I never once took Oliver’s side. Maybe because it was too sad to believe.
“I chased a love that wasn’t there for so long. And it broke me. I saw myself how he saw me.”
“How does your father see you?” Miriam pushes.
“As a failure. A disappointment. And I became that. At work. In my marriage. And as hard as I tried to impress my father, it didn’t happen. So I stopped. I stopped trying. I quit that job and I feel better. It’s not that simple, of course, but I was miserable. And I kept thinking, how is that attractive? I hate my job. I hate going to the office. I was a shell of a person, yet I expected Diana to shower me with attention.”
“What is this bringing up for you, Diana?”
I wasn’t expecting any of this. “Sorry. I’m just taking it all in. Oliver…Sorry,” I apologize again, trying to find my footing. “I thought we were here to talk about Emmy and how to help her through this…”
“Yes, of course,” Miriam interrupts. “But don’t you think this would help—to understand why your marriage is ending?”
I turn to Oliver and see he’s already looking at me, his eyes hopeful and soft. He wants to understand. I thought I had understood.
“Diana?” They are both waiting for me to answer. So I do something I wasn’t expecting I’d ever do in her office: I tell the truth.
“Yes. I would also like to understand.”
—
Back at work, I run into Allen in the kitchen. “Jesus Christ, Diana, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Having a little insomnia.” Also, I was just bawling in my car after therapy with your son.
“Well. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.” He fills my mug from the office coffeepot, his favorite joke.
Before I can politely thank him, his current sycophant, Doug, swans in. “Sir. I had a copy made of the Petra portfolio.”
My ears perk up at Petra’s name.
“Diana, Petra’s invited you to this meeting.” Allen is picking over a box of free donuts that look like they’ve been sitting out for hours. He pops a powdered sugar donut hole in his mouth, seeming to swallow without chewing. “Let’s go.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Petra is already seated at the conference room table with sparkling water and a relaxed grin. “Diana, I tried calling and calling.”
“I’m so sorry, Petra. I’ve been buried.” I take a seat across from her and smooth my hair.
Are you okay? she mouths.
I nod as Allen cuts in.
“Petra, I know I speak for all of us—”
“You do like to do that, Allen,” Petra jabs and we all laugh politely, Allen loudest of all.
“Hard not to speak for all of us when we’re all so excited to see you today and discuss ideas.”
“Doesn’t that sound magical? Well, actually, as it turns out, I’ve got something potentially very exciting.”
“Wonderful,” Allen says. “One of the real estate opportunities we showed you? Can’t go wrong with land.”
“No. It’s more…tech.”
“Tech? I didn’t realize that was on the list. Doug, is that something we talked about?” I watch Doug silently panic and leaf through the paperwork, as if he might find something new in the deck.
“Not entirely tech,” Petra says. “It’s more of an enterprise, really. I want to be in the female wellness space, in a bigger way.”
“Recipes, fitness, that kind of thing?”
“Not really. It’s a website. For women.”
The blood drains from my face.
“Sure, okay. There’s a plethora of promising start-ups we can research—”
“Don’t bother. I’ve done the research.”
Petra catches my eye and smiles and I feel my heart pound.
“It’s an erotic website for women.”
Doug stifles a laugh with a cough. Allen just looks confused. “I’m sorry. I’m not following.”
Doug leans into Allen. “I think she means porn.”
“Yes, I understand that, thank you. I’m trying to understand the investment appeal.”
“Petra’s joking.” I feel my shirt sticking to my back. “Obviously.”
“I’m not joking, Diana. I thought you’d understand that.”
“You want to invest in a pornographic website?”
“I think ‘erotica’ would be a better word for it. But I’ve never been one for labels.”
I flip through the portfolio in front of us, the one that Doug has spent weeks preparing—and I feel my face burn red-hot. “I think you may be better served by a more trusted investment opportunity.”
After a long pause during which I can feel her eyes on me she says, “I don’t agree. I like this for me. Mitch would have too.”
“So you’ve seen this…erotic website, Diana?” Allen asks.
“There’s nothing really to see,” Petra says. “ Yet. That’s why this is such a good opportunity. Right now, it’s just an idea. And as is, maybe it’ll circulate to a small group of friends, maybe get a small following and a little word of mouth. And then what? All that hard work and it just evaporates into the ether of an overcrowded marketplace? Another good idea lost? From what I can tell, there’s no real strategy in place for a proper launch, and no real capital in place for any marketing and PR spend. It would be a lift, for sure. But I’m up for it.”
—
“Petra!” I catch up to her as she slips into her car. When she turns, she’s beaming. It’s as if what happened in the conference room was something we had rehearsed. “I know. I know. This is going to be very fun.”
“No, Petra.” I shake my head. “Allen is my father-in-law.”
“Diana, no shit. Don’t you get it? You won’t have to work at this frat house anymore. We can work together, and I can give you a salary. But really, you’ll be your own boss.”
“You should have talked to me first.” I squeeze my fists, feeling the sharpness of my own nails.
“You never called me back.” She puts a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I meant to.”
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine, Petra. I’ve just been busy and I’m not sleeping great but I’ll figure it out, just a little insomnia and Oliver and I—Petra, I know you want to help, but I’m fine.”
“Diana, you have a real knack for laying your emotions at the feet of the wrong people. You let your father-in-law get away with everything and you’re pissed at me for no good reason. I’m here to help and you can’t see it.”
“I’ve worked here a long time.”
“I get it, Diana. I understand. But I’m not sure you do.”
—
I take a walk around the office park, avoiding Allen. I stop in the shade of my favorite maple and dial Alicia’s number. She picks up after four rings and whispers, “Hey, everything okay?”
“Oh shit, sorry, are you in class?”
“Don’t worry, I’m out in the hall. We’re screening the freshman shorts today and they all think they’ve made Nosferatu and I have no idea what the fuck any of them are about.”
“Get back to it. I love you.”
“I love you too. Call L’Wren.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Call her.”
Maybe she heard I’ve been working with Liam. I feel terrible, I should have told L’Wren all about the Dirty Diana site by now. I meant to tell her in Paris, of course, and then didn’t. I meant to tell her so many times, but I just wanted it to get on its feet first, before I told too many people about it, before I felt judged by them. I dial her number and plan out what to say while it rings. But I don’t have a chance to speak before L’Wren blurts, “I’m getting a divorce!”
“What?”
“I know, Diana. It’s all so horrible. I know exactly how you felt. You can’t understand it until you’re actually going through it, can you?”
“Wait. Catch me up. When did this happen?”
“Even though I knew it was heading in this direction, my heart needed time to catch up, I guess. And then our therapist practically encouraged it. The truth is Kevin wasn’t happy either. He didn’t say it out loud, but you can’t work that much and not be running from something. God, I feel like such an idiot and such a failure. But even idiots can find a way to stay together. Why can’t we?”
“Because it’s not the right fit, for either of you. Maybe it used to be and now it’s not.”
“We took vows. That should mean something. Especially in Texas.”
“I’m so sorry, L’Wren.”
“Diana?” I hear her sniffle. “I know it’s a terrible club to belong to, but I’m glad we’re in it together.”
“I’m not officially divorced yet.”
“Well, neither am I, but you know…Our ships are both pointed to that port.”
“How about if I come over?”
“No. It’s okay. Kevin is still here. He’s so blasé about the whole thing. Like this was all part of our journey.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“But what did I want? For him to beg? I mean, no, not really. But maybe a little? I feel like one of his business failings. He’s just so matter-of-fact about it all. Which I guess is for the best.”
—
I think about L’Wren for the rest of the morning, sending her texts from my desk, reminding her she’s not alone and that it gets easier. But my own lie takes me by the throat—she is alone, and some days I feel so lost I can hardly breathe. Then I remember I do have someone I can call—Jasper. Someone who runs me baths and orders me room service in five-star hotels.
When Jasper picks up I say, “Hey. It’s been a day.”
“It’s eleven a.m. ,” he says with humor in his voice. “Tell me everything.”
“It’s messy and complicated…” And the details are giving me a dull, throbbing headache. “I just want to see you.”
“Let’s meet at the hotel. I’ve got a coffee with a collector that the gallery owner is making me say hello to. I can make it quick and be back there in an hour.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I added your name to my room so you can get a key from the front desk. Diana? I’m really glad you called.”
On the way to the hotel, Petra texts me.
Is now a bad time to tell you about the Dirty Diana vibrator prototype I’ve had made?
She’s hard to stay mad at. Funny. And yes, in case you’re not joking, it’s a bad time. I’m sorry about earlier.
Don’t worry about it. I’m not writing to convince you. You should move things at your pace.
Thank you.
But I do think you should get a few marketing materials together. A proper headshot—that you can use or not use.
Okay. I just need to come clean to a few people first.
Come clean? Now that’s a great tagline.
—
When I get to Jasper’s room, the first thing I notice is a new bag of hair products on the bathroom counter. An expensive oil. A creamy texturizer and a mousse. Does he really use three different products every morning? Make it four—there’s an antifrizz spray on the counter. I walk to the minifridge but all the sodas are missing, replaced by a neat row of green juices. The first three are marked Prep. I unscrew the top of one and it smells like broccoli and cumin. The rolling wheels of a maid’s cart pass by the hallway and I dart outside and ask the housekeeper for water. She graciously gives me three of the tiniest bottles of water I have ever seen. I drink them all like shots. When Jasper’s not there by twelve thirty, I open my laptop to do some work. At one thirty, he sends me a text:
Sorry, everything here is taking longer than I’d hoped. Order some lunch. And don’t leave!
I tell him not to worry, I’m on my third glass of Prep.
Woman! he jokes. Leave my vanity alone!
At two forty-five, he texts again.
Sorry. So many unexpected drop-bys at our meeting and all long-winded talkers. Trying to escape asap.
I tell him again not to worry, even though I feel a fluttery panic at remembering this part of us. In Santa Fe, Jasper was constantly agreeing to meet me at a party, only to decide later he didn’t want to go. Or he’d show up and be the center of the fun, then slip away early, expecting we’d find each other later. I felt tethered to him by an invisible rope that he could tug when he felt like it and let it go completely slack other times. And instead of walking away, I tried to figure out how to make wherever I was the only place he’d want to be. I thought I could hold the rope in my hands and then we’d be in balance—and it was only at the end that I realized he wasn’t even playing the same game as I was. I spent months after our breakup trying to decide if he had ever really made the promises I was convinced he had broken. And now? He’s in a hotel for a couple more days and then he’s off again. I panic at the thought of feeling that tug, a hard jerk on the rope that sends me falling, slipping backward.
A knock on the door and my hope returns—that quickly. But it’s not Jasper. A masseuse dressed in clean white scrubs enters the room with her massage table and smiles warmly. “You must be Diana?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Sybil. Jasper asked me to take very good care of you.”
An hour later I’m so blissed out on Sybil’s table that even when I try to conjure up my deepest worries—about Jasper, about Oliver, about Emmy—they flit away, covered in sweet-smelling almond oil and massaged out of me. Getting upset in the office, the rivers of anger I feel for Allen—all of it washes away. No one can predict the future. Certainly Jasper and I are different people than we were in Santa Fe. Why do I need all the answers? As Sybil runs her fingers along my temples, I take calming breaths, inhaling deeply and letting myself drift off to sleep.
I wake up in a plush hotel robe underneath fifteen-hundred-thread-count sheets surrounded by lofty down pillows. By the door sits a new suitcase surrounded by shopping bags. Jasper bought a bigger bag. And more clothes. He extended his trip.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, sitting on the bed beside me.
“How long have I been sleeping?”
“An hour? Maybe more. Good massage?”
“Life-changing.”
Jasper’s already eaten, but he’s ordered me dinner. After a shower, I wrap myself back in the hotel robe and he watches me eat. “I like the idea of taking care of you tonight. Like I would if we were together. When you have a hard day and I’m at home waiting for you. If this was real.”
I dip into the pasta and take one delicious, mouthwatering bite. He ordered me some of everything, including a strawberry milkshake for dessert.
“Don’t you agree? This would be nice?”
“For us to be real?” I want to say I do, I want us to be real. But it’s hard to say that while in a four-thousand-dollar-a-night suite with meals delivered to our room and a maid to clean up our messes. “Sure. Let’s practice.”
He smiles. “Hi, honey, how was your day?”
I think about unfurling my laundry list of what went wrong in my day, but I don’t want to bring any of it into our bubble. “I just really wanted to see you. To see if you could make me feel better.”
“I think I can. Definitely.”
“Prove it,” I say as I take a sip of my milkshake.
Jasper studies me for a moment, his gaze making my whole body flush with heat. He stands and takes the milkshake from me, then pushes me back on the bed. My robe falls partially open and he tugs on the tie, exposing me completely. He stands over me, watching me, then with his knee, he spreads my legs.
“What are you doing?”
“Proving it.” He holds the milkshake close to my chest, tipping the glass.
“Jasper…”
He tips the glass again, slowly dripping the milkshake onto my breasts. I gasp as the icy cold liquid hits my nipples. And then the warmth of his mouth as he licks the ice cream from my skin, his tongue slowly circling my nipples, over and over again. I arch my back, moaning in pleasure at the sensation, cold then hot. He licks my chest completely clean. But he’s not done. He sits up again and this time he pours it down my stomach, making a slow trail from my ribs, circling my belly button, and then down to my hips. I suck in my breath as he parts my legs even farther and pours the icy cold liquid onto me, spilling into the folds of me. I struggle to catch my breath. Jasper’s head is between my legs, his hands squeezing the soft flesh of my thighs, licking the milkshake clean from my body. Long, slow strokes with his tongue starting at the top of my clit all the way down, then he plunges his tongue deep inside me.
“God, this tastes good.”
“Here…” I lead his hand closer to me. “There’s more…”
Jasper smiles and takes me in his mouth again, massaging me softly with his tongue in slow, agonizing circles.
“That’s it,” I say. “Right there.”
I lift my hips toward him, grabbing for his hair and pulling. I want to be all over him. My moans fill the room.
“I need you inside me,” I gasp. Then I find my breath and call it out, louder. “Now.” I turn over on all fours. He holds me by the hips and then brushes himself against me, teasing me from behind, moving back and forth but not entering me. I feel his erection pressing, then plunging, into me. “Yes, yes.” My legs start to tremble. I want it so badly. That his body belongs in mine. I’m full and ready to climax but not wanting to. I want to savor it. I want him inside me over and over again.
His hips thrust against me and I gasp. His body drapes over me, his cheek against my back. I arch farther to give him even more access. It doesn’t feel like enough. I want more of him. I need more of him inside me.
As if hearing my thoughts out loud, Jasper moves faster. It’s so heightened. So unbelievably raw.
“Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes.” All of you.
Jasper draws his speed out, easing in and out of me as I moan in ecstasy. I grip the bed frame and circle my hips, controlling the movement. But the pressure is too much. It builds inside me and I hold on tighter until both of us cry out, letting go.
We lie beside each other, my head on his shoulder. Jasper kisses me hard and we steady our breath.
“Can you stay longer?” I ask.
“Another few days—then a quick trip to New York—then back to Dallas.”
But all I hear is “back to Dallas.”