Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
“This feels like high school again.” L’Wren applies an extra coat of mascara to my lashes. “God. It’s delicious. I’m nervous. Excited. I’ve got all the feels. Anything could happen tonight!”
“I like seeing you this way,” I say into my bathroom mirror.
“Thank god we are doing this whole divorce thing together. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of it if not for you. And I’m dying to get to know Jasper.”
“I think you’re going to like him.” I haven’t seen Jasper for weeks and he’s only in town for two nights, but he promised he doesn’t mind spending one of them on a double date.
“And you are going to love Arthur. At least I hope you do. God, what if you don’t? Don’t tell me unless you do, okay?”
“I’m sure I’m going to love him.”
“How do I look?” L’Wren does a spin in her pale pink dress.
“Gorgeous and effortless.”
“Are the heels trying too hard? Too high? I haven’t cared what I looked like in ages.” She smooths her dress and adds another gold bangle to her stack. “That’s not true. I always care. But you know what I mean.”
“You do and you don’t. And you’re stunning.”
—
We arrive at the restaurant, a small vegan café that Arthur has raved about. L’Wren grabs my elbow and squeezes. “Ohmigod. He’s here. Isn’t he handsome?”
“Where?”
“Curlyish hair, with the dark blazer and glasses. And the cute butt.”
Arthur spots us and smiles.
“We had sex on his lunch hour. I can’t get enough of him. Don’t worry. I showered.”
He’s not at all what I imagined. When L’Wren was with Kevin they always felt slightly imbalanced. She was charismatic and beautiful and he was brusque and exacting. Arthur’s eyes light up at the sight of L’Wren and his smile is gentle and warm. I can feel immediately that there is nowhere else Arthur would rather be than close to L’Wren.
“Diana. This is Arthur. Arthur, Diana.”
“Nice to meet you.” Arthur takes my hand in both of his, then kisses my cheek, a soothing twang in his voice. I panic suddenly that Jasper will be late. Or not show at all. But then I feel his arms around my waist, holding me tightly. He shakes everyone’s hand, and I watch L’Wren warm to his charm.
At the table, he listens intently to L’Wren recount meeting Arthur for the first time.
“How new are we talking? For you two?” Jasper asks, genuinely invested in their love story.
“Officially?” Arthur asks. “Not long at all. But we’ve known each other for years. L’Wren’s brought more cats into my office than any rescue I work with. Can I share your bill from last year?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Let’s just say L’Wren could’ve bought herself a second home at the beach.”
She swats his shoulder.
“A modest one.” He laughs. “Not directly on the water.”
Jasper laughs too. “You obviously have a very big heart, L’Wren.”
“Only when it comes to animals.” L’Wren smiles.
The waitress interrupts to rattle off the specials. Instead of balking, Jasper announces, “Vegan meatballs made of sunflower seeds and cashews sound interesting. What are we thinking, friends?”
“I hope this place is okay? It’s hard to be a meat-loving vet,” Arthur says. “Like a pyromaniac fireman.”
“I feel so much better since I cut out the red meat,” L’Wren admits.
“It’s killing us all, really. And I really need you around. You know, to keep the lights on at my clinic…”
L’Wren punches him playfully. “You’re the best vet in Dallas. You’d be fine without my caravan of flea-ridden misfits. I do miss a P.Terry’s cheeseburger.” She sighs. “I can’t help it.”
“You could do meat Mondays?”
“Maybe.”
They kiss again, this time in blissful agreement. I catch Jasper smiling into his menu.
“Sorry. We’re nauseating. Arthur’s got me on a health kick. I love it and I hate it.”
“And you’ve got me on a diet of pickleball and pedicures. So we’re even.”
They lean in for a kiss yet again and it’s like a nature show about cute furry animals that crossed a desert to finally find each other. Jasper squeezes my hand under the table but it feels slightly forced, as if we’re trying to catch up to them. But we don’t need to, I tell myself. We have years of undeniable chemistry. We’re happy too.
“So. Jasper. What was Diana like in Santa Fe? I want to know everything.”
“She was…hmm…”
I see the twinkle in his eye and shake my head.
“What? You were…adventurous. But not as confident. Not as mature as you are now.”
“Ugh, god, Jasper, never call a woman ‘mature,’?” L’Wren teases. “No, I know what you mean. Diana is so grounded. I’ve always loved that about her. But I sure would love to meet Santa Fe Diana too. She sounds like a party.”
Jasper laughs. “She was an incredible artist. Is an incredible artist. Have you seen her paintings?”
I hear Jasper’s phone ring in his pocket and he politely excuses himself from the table without an explanation. I watch him through the restaurant’s front window, nervously pacing, his phone pressed to his ear.
“Emergency?” L’Wren asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say, worried he’s being rude.
“I like him,” she adds. “He’s very handsome.”
“He is that,” I reply, wishing her compliment were sturdier. Based on something other than his looks.
After I’ve moved a wheatgerm pancake around my plate in an effort to have it appear eaten, Jasper returns to the table with a wild look in his eye.
“The book sold.”
“What book?” L’Wren asks.
“It’s a large-format photography book I’ve been working on. I showed a few images to a publisher last week, not thinking anything would ever come of it, and she just made an offer. Now I’ve got to get to Iceland to shoot the cover. And some additional landscapes I want to include…” I can see his wheels turning, his mind already somewhere over Reykjavík.
“You actually sold a book?” Arthur asks in awe.
“Who wants to go to Iceland?” Jasper jokes.
“Oh, me!” L’Wren lifts her glass.
“How long will you be there?” I know I should start with “congratulations” but I can’t seem to find the words.
“Don’t know yet. Can’t be too long.”
I feel L’Wren’s eyes on me and I force a smile. She fills in the silence for me. “To Jasper!” We toast.
—
After dinner, we head to Jasper’s friend’s party in the Cedars district.
“Thank god I didn’t bring a hostess gift. Could you imagine?” L’Wren eyes the very attractive and mostly younger crowd. “Me walking in with a candle?” She touches Jasper’s shoulder and whispers, “Are we too old to be here?”
“No! Renee is amazing. They’ve worked at the gallery for ages. And they love old people!”
L’Wren smiles and we move deeper inside, weaving our way across the room. The loft is packed wall to wall, bodies pushed close together. People all around us dance without inhibition and the energy is contagious.
We find a place to sit and Jasper and Arthur offer to get us drinks.
“I’ll have a skinny marg!” L’Wren turns to me, eyes wide. “This is wild!”
“It’s fun, right?”
“Are you sad that Jasper is leaving?”
“No. A little? It’s great. The book. It’s such a great thing.”
“It’s okay to be disappointed.”
“It’s just how we are. As a couple.” I try to be casual. “This is what we look like.”
L’Wren nods, unconvinced, and Arthur hands her a drink.
“No skinny margs,” he shouts over the music. “But they did have a Crown and Coke.”
“I haven’t had Crown anything since…high school maybe?”
“Cheers.” Jasper holds up his beer. “To new friends.”
As we take our first sips, Arthur gets a call from his answering service and apologizes, he’s needed at the clinic right away. L’Wren’s eyes sparkle, watching him in action. “I’ll drive you!”
Jasper and I stand at the edge of the party, watching the dance floor. He brings me into his arms and holds me tightly. “I like your friends.”
“Jasper!” A petite woman with an elegant gray bob kisses Jasper on both cheeks. “I’m shocked you came.”
“Of course I did.” He turns to me and adds, “This is Irena. She runs the Bluestone gallery.”
“You must be Diana,” she offers, but doesn’t extend her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Her eyes flit to Jasper. “Do you want to circulate tonight?”
He scans the party. “Not really.”
“Good. Neither do I. The Dallas art scene can be so cringe. But then, so can I.” She says it so matter-of-factly it’s charming. “What do you do, Diana?”
“Taxes,” I answer at the same time Jasper says, “She’s an artist.”
Irena’s head tilts.
“In my free time,” I say.
She doesn’t press for details, instead keeping her focus on Jasper. “If you don’t want to check in with Joseph and his sycophants, then I will.”
“Thank you.”
“They’re on ayahuasca anyhow so I’m sure they won’t even remember who they did or didn’t meet. I told them to stay close to the bathroom.”
Jasper and I watch her squeeze between a couple dancing close and disappear into the crowd. “I think I like her?”
“That’s the great mystery of Irena. You’ll never know. I’m going to get us another drink.”
The alcohol has started to take effect and I feel looser. I tell myself that Jasper and I absolutely can be the kind of couple that sees each other when we see each other, no plan, spontaneous but in sync. We can meet in exotic locations and pack enough sex into three days to last us months. I’ll be divorced soon and that’s the perk of shared custody, right? Days to myself and freedom to travel. I finish the rest of my drink before I can admit to myself how tired I am just thinking about it. The picking up and leaving. Making sure everything is covered before I go and then playing catch-up once I’m back. That loose feeling is slipping through my fingers.
“You look troubled.” Jasper holds a drink in each hand, looking like he has a delicious secret.
“And you look like trouble.”
“How about a special drink.”
“How special?”
“Molly special.”
“Did you have one?”
“A second ago. You don’t have to drink it—”
I down the drink. I want to feel young and carefree like everyone else at the party. I want more shared experiences with Jasper to get us through the inevitable time apart. Jasper’s eyes go wide. “Did Santa Fe Diana just emerge from the darkness? L’Wren is going to be very upset she missed this.”
I laugh and pull Jasper onto the crowded dance floor. Within minutes, I feel the music coming up through the bottoms of my feet to my head, my scalp tingling. It’s the most magical music I’ve ever heard. Like it was written just for all of us here, at the party. My new friends. The Molly rolls through me and I draw even closer to Jasper like we’re in a bubble I don’t want to pierce by moving too far away. We exist for each other, I tell myself, as if it’s all so obvious. Gratitude overwhelms me and I want to thank him out loud for all the pleasure he’s given me. Let him know how meaningful it is and how it has helped me.
“Thank you,” I whisper in his ear, our cheeks pressed against each other.
“Always,” he answers. It’s like he always understands what I’m groping to express, I tell myself, no matter how complex. One song bleeds into the next and we never stop moving, both of us flushed and sweaty. My mind is clear of everything except the sensation of Jasper’s touch.
I don’t know how long the guy in leather pants and no shirt has been standing there. His pupils are as huge and dilated as ours must be. “I just had to tell you. It’s beautiful watching you two. You guys are so in love and I can feel it from across the room. Do you mind if I massage your hand while we talk?”
“Go ahead,” I say, like it’s the greatest idea ever. I offer him my hand.
“I want to be like you guys when I’m old. Really. You’re so beautiful.” He kisses each of us on the palm and then disappears back into the crowd. Jasper laughs and pulls me closer. He breathes me in.
I look up at him. The room is on a slight tilt, but the effect is somehow comforting, like this is how the building’s architect intended it to be. Jasper tucks a sweaty strand of my hair behind my ear. “Is this real?” I ask him.
“Are we real now?” he asks. “I want us to be real.”
“We’re real.”
He smiles down at me, then lifts my chin and kisses me deeply. “I love you, Diana. I really do.”
“This isn’t just the drugs?” My thoughts feel so clear but my arms feel like they’re suspended in Jell-O.
“Who the fuck cares? Come here.” He holds me tightly. “You’re incredible. Your face. Your brain. Your legs. Your lips. This is it for me. You are it.”
His body feels so good pressed against mine. The pressure of his fingertips against my back. A wave of overwhelming tenderness for him washes over me. “I love you too.”
—
In the morning, everything hurts. My jaw is sore, and I’ve never been so nauseated in my life. Jasper is fast asleep beside me. It’s been three hours since we passed out in each other’s arms, after floating back to his hotel room and taking what must have been a forty-five-minute rain shower. We sat on the tiled bench and rubbed each other’s feet until the drug wore off. And then I set my alarm for eight thirty. I promised Petra I’d meet her at nine thirty for the photo shoot I’ve put off twice already. If I leave soon, I’ll make it right on time.
Jasper stirs. When I turn my head to face him, the room swims.
“I still feel it. I love you.” His voice is heavy with sleep as he curls into me. “It wasn’t the drugs. Or the DJ,” he teases and pulls my body into his. He kisses my cheek. “I meant what I said last night. We’re still real. Still hopelessly in love.”
I sit up and steady myself on the edge of the bed and he tilts his face up to me. He’s waiting for a response. But I’m scared of our shared declaration last night. I’m frightened by being “real.” In the morning light, picturing ourselves fitting into each other’s lives feels hard, if not impossible. His suitcase sits on the floor near my feet, half packed. He’s leaving town again in two days and coming back when? We move in worlds outside of our bubble that we could never squeeze into a hotel room or three days together. And do we want them to? Do we have to name it? I want to ask. Oliver and I never discussed being “real.” We just were.
I want to put on the Molly glasses again so I can feel the gratitude, the closeness, the deliciousness of Jasper’s skin. He’s still as handsome as ever, maybe even more so with his dark stubble and sleep-tousled hair. Maybe the euphoria is still here, just buried underneath the heavy blankets of a hangover.
“Nothing has changed for me either.” I pull myself from the bed with a lie, leaving the warmth of his body.
—
At the studio, everything is loud. In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face. I look like hell. Everything hurts. I hover over the toilet. Nausea churns inside me in heavy, choppy waves.
Petra knocks on the door.
“I’ll be right there.”
I rinse out my mouth and open the door—Petra looks perfect and fresh, standing in front of me dressed in a Prada jumpsuit with three-inch Louboutin heels and a fresh blowout. I put a hand to my chest, attempting to cover up the coffee stain on my shirt.
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
“I’m ready.”
She looks doubtful. “I have one of the best photographers in Dallas behind me, so look alive. She shot my book jacket and she’s a genius.”
The studio door opens and a four-person crew hurries in. Each one looks past me as they enter the room, unable to imagine that I’m their model for the day.
At some point, Liam appears, takes one look at me, and runs back out for egg sandwiches and Gatorade. “You’re going to need this. Drink it.” I sit on a chair and close my eyes while I have makeup put on by a kind man who smells like gardenias. “Don’t worry, hon. We’re going to turn this all around.” After the lashes are on, my lips have been lined, and my skin has been evened out with light-reflecting makeup, I come back to life.
“We have three looks,” Petra informs me. “One: the shower, fogged-up mirror, wearing only a towel, just got fucked. Two, Met Gala after-party feel, makeup running, just got fucked. Three, sexy girl next door, jeans and a worn-in T-shirt, just got fucked by a neighbor.”
“Why am I always ‘just got fucked’?”
She waves a hand. “It’s just a lazy way to describe the vibe you put out. That’s all. Nothing too overt.”
“Just a second.” I run to the bathroom and dry heave into the toilet. What was I thinking last night? I’m way too old to feel this way.
When I emerge, Petra studies me.
“Big night last night?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Petra narrows her eyes. “I’d guess you’re pregnant…”
“No!”
“…but you are grinding your teeth. So, yes, must have been a pretty big night.”
Surprisingly, Liam is the one who keeps us on schedule, running through each look and carefully monitoring the time, maybe afraid I’ll vomit if we go overtime. Kirby keeps us all well fed and happy and Petra tries to put me at ease. As soon as the soft-spoken photographer raises her lens, I feel my entire body stiffen. I can’t remember how a woman holds her body, every movement I try is wrong. A deer in headlights. “Let’s start with just the face, Diana. It will be a close-up so don’t worry about your body. Very small movements. Just put your finger to your lip. Oooh, that’s perfect. You’re a natural.”
After the first hour, I change into the T-shirt and finally start to relax. My hair is tousled—of course it is, because maybe I just got fucked?—but the look feels the most like me. Nothing too constricting so that I can’t move like myself and nothing too loose that I worry something will slip out.
For several long minutes, I don’t think about posing or the camera. Or about what Oliver would think. Or Jasper. I imagine myself into interviews I’ve done and into a feeling of confession. I imagine sharing some secret desire I’ve never spoken out loud and the feeling of lightness that comes after.
“I love it!” Petra can feel it too. A sensuality and freedom emanating from my body.
Without thinking, I pull the T-shirt over my head so that I’m topless and turn away from the camera, looking over my shoulder directly into the lens.
“Diana. This is it. This is the one.”
—
After the shoot, I race home to meet Oliver and Emmy, still in my hair and makeup.
“Wow,” Oliver says. “You look amazing.”
“Like an L.O.L. doll,” Emmy agrees before running inside.
“I was just about to wash my face.”
“Were you at an event?”
“No…No…I was roped into one of those department store makeovers. The makeup artist went a little crazy.” The lies have become second nature.
“You look good.”
“Thank you.”
“So. I have some news.”
“Do you?” Katherine is moving in. They’re engaged. Katherine’s pregnant?
“I sold Frontier Lane for a three-hundred-thousand-dollar profit. Closed this morning.”
“Oliver!” I’m flooded with relief—with a side of shame for feeling so relieved. “That’s amazing.”
“Money will go right back into the savings account. Plus a profit.”
“Wow. Congratulations.” I think about inviting him in but my head is still pounding. “What will you do next?”
“Find another property, hopefully. Start again. Older and wiser.”
“Congratulations,” I say again. “That’s huge.”
“I thought maybe we could go to dinner and celebrate. With Emmy.”
“Together?”
“Do you have other plans?”
“No. It’s just…”
“You’re right. Bad idea.”
“No. I’m fighting off something.” Like a Molly hangover. “I was thinking I’d go to bed early, once Emmy’s asleep. But, rain check?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
He turns to leave, then pauses. “Diana?” He faces me again.
“Yeah?”
“Is it too much? Everything that’s happening in therapy?”
“No…I think it’s…I’m just really tired.”
After he leaves, I tally up all the lies I’ve told today: I lied about coming down with something, when I’m actually hungover. I lied to Petra about my late night, and I lied to Oliver about a photo shoot—a lie of omission, maybe, until I made up the part about being at a makeup counter. I lied about therapy not being too much. I loathe going and it does feel like too much.
And worst of all, the day started with a lie:
I still feel it. I love you. Nothing has changed for me.
Nothing has changed for me either.
We both lied.