Chapter 23 The Fabulous Miss Roughy
THE FABULOUS MISS ROUGHY
LEAH
By June, I packed the last of my things into storage and said goodbye to my old life.
Rich’s things were still there when I arrived at the penthouse.
He had another few days to flee to a new place before he was finally on his ass.
To my surprise, as we picked through the closet, we found rows of things I didn’t own.
It seemed that C wasted no time moving in.
“I say we burn them all!” Lourdes announced. “You would never dress in such tacky clothes. I’m insulted just seeing them. What is this even? Jovanni?”
She was fresh off a plane and helping me pack.
“Papa calls them casino clothes.”
Lourdes giggled. “Casino clothes?”
“They’re what old ladies wear to the casino—loud prints, big chunky earrings, statement necklaces. But none of it really fits—and certainly not in the daytime.”
“Sick burn, Prince George. I love it.” Lourdes neatly zipped two evening gowns into a garment bag.
I turned into my vanity in the corner of my palatial walk-in—the one I had custom-built. Before I could even point out the atrocity, Lourdes beat me.
“This bitch is using your lipstain!”
The collection was mine and the shade was, too. I’d done a collab several years ago and stockpiled a dozen tubes of the stuff since I swore by it and worried it would be a limited run.
“My life is a gothic novel!” I announced. “Fuck off, Mrs. Danvers! Oh wait, am I Rebecca? Or am I Jane? Or is this more Wuthering Heights?”
“I don’t know, but please don’t tell me your post-divorce come up is to resurrect the libretto for Rebecca the Musical. Our coven isn’t prepared to fight that dark magic right now.”
“I am not resurrecting the most cursed musical of all time,” I promised. “Oh my God, this is so weird! Why is she here? And why am I angrier that she’s stealing my makeup than stealing my man?”
“You know, I’ve asked myself why I am angrier that another woman moved in with Gabe three weeks after I left town than I was to leave him, but the answer was the pool. It was absolutely our heated pool.”
I giggled. “Oh, but we had so much fun in that pool!”
“We did. It was lovely the five days a year we got to lay out.”
I smiled, thinking back on London summers and spending the best years of my life with Lou as a constant.
“We won’t have a pool, will we?” Lourdes asked.
“Nah. But there’s other stuff to do. We will find fun.”
“Good because I already signed us up for ballet,” Lourdes said.
“Oh my God, Lou, no! I told you—”
“Your arse will thank you.”
I rolled my eyes. It was so like Lourdes to sign us up for even more exercise.
If there was one reason she and Gabe meshed, it was their love of woo-woo fitness and torture.
The man was obsessed with his fading youth so much that he was now sleeping with a twenty-three-year-old actress he saw as his next meal ticket.
I looked around, cutting my losses with everything else. “The movers will throw out whatever shit they leave. I think we’re good.”
Lourdes grabbed the last of my line of shoe boxes, managing to carry the neat pile into the foyer with ease.
“So, we’re alright then? No need to load a U-Haul?” Lourdes asked.
“I could make so many jokes, sweetheart, but I will refrain,” I giggled. “No. The movers will bring my stuff to the new place. And you don’t have to do anymore. I am just grateful you were here.”
“It is the least I could do for the woman who let me sleep on her couch for two weeks after my marriage fell apart.” Lourdes took my hands. “I will always be here for you, Leah, as you are for me. Never doubt it.”
I gave her a massive hug, fighting tears.
“No, no, no. No tears,” Lourdes said. “We have a rehearsal to nail, and I cannot for the life of me get through it with you blubbering. You are the star, Leah. And if we’re to stand up to Clive’s chicanery, I cannot have you any less than your confident best.”
I wiped my eyes and nodded.
“Cry later—but don’t let any of these bastards from your past see it, alright? Now, text your bloody publicist.”
Rich wanted me to hold the news of our breakup for another week, but I was petty, and my publicist wanted to get ahead of it.
After all, the paps were wondering where my ring went.
Once I was in the car headed to rehearsal, I texted her and dropped the bomb.
I hoped he failed to beat his primary challenger but had little hope that this alone would shake his chances.
The press waited for me at the dance studio. The horde of paps stuck to me like a fly on shit. Just another day in the life of Leah Roughy.
Lou and I entered, exhausted and ready to be too sore to move tomorrow. I let the cheerful young faces of the chorus greet us with excitement, glad to speak to anyone willing to pad my ego at this low point.
“The ever-fabulous Miss Roughy, ladies and gentlemen. And already, she’s reunited with an indomitable diva, Miss Lennon!” Brian announced.
Lou did a polite, understated nod as I blushed, waved at everyone, and let him sweep me up in a big hug.
“Hello, hello. You are a sight for sore eyes,” I said.
“Same, darling. Same.”
Clive entered and shot Brian a look. As soon as the show was picked up for months—not days, Clive came back. He needed the money and attention.
“Bloody hell!” Lourdes muttered.
“Yup. The dynamic quad is back. Let’s hope we’re all older and wiser,” I sighed.
“I’m ignoring you, Brian. Don’t be a knob,” Clive said. “Well, if it isn’t our two favorite sopranos.”
He thought he had a chance with both of us after her divorce and my most recent failed attempt at monogamy. There was zero chance we picked up again. I was off men—especially selfish ones who caused drama.
“Apologies about the broken engagement,” Clive said. “He was daft.”
Apparently, while I sat in traffic for twenty minutes, everyone learned of my misfortune.
“My statement assigned no blame,” I said.
“Uh-huh. Who is she?”
I set my jaw.
“Oh, come on! He’s a politician, Leah. The writing is on the wall. Way to stick it to him before an election.”
I shrugged and let out a sly smile. “No fucking comment.”
“So, princess, shall we begin?” Lourdes teased.
Our choreographer and dance coaches arrived. Everyone was ready.
“As I will ever be,” I said.
I would be offended being called princess, but knew it was a joke. I was the leading lady with two Tonys, a Grammy, and working on an Oscar. If I could get my EGOT, I’d die happy. I would take the crown and wear it proudly—especially if the proclamation came from the person I trusted most.