Chapter 6
Erica
She rolled off the bed the next afternoon and crawled on hands and knees into her bathroom. Her house in Kensington was soundproofed enough that she couldn’t hear anything from outside. Making lie-ins possible is a noisy city.
Erica had won her first Academy Award for best actress the previous evening, but it was like she knew nothing. Including how to stand. Shuffling inside her walk-in shower, Erica shifted her body to lean against the tiled wall. Then, lifting her hand, she turned the dial and let the water flow over her. Tasting the salt on her lips, she realised her silent tears had started streaming down her face.
Minutes passed as she sobbed in the torrential downpour of water. Clawing at her dress, she tore and ripped the material. The constricting underwear underneath her Oscar-winning dress had clips and ties, but after a few tugs, her breasts were bared, her legs were free of her stockings, and all that was left was a tiny pair of panties. Ripping the material at her hip, she pulled them free and tossed them on the pile of clothing in the far corner of the wet floor.
The reaction to finding out her husband had cheated on her was heartbreaking. Gregg had wanted a family straight away, but Erica wanted to wait. He said he was okay with waiting. They’d only been married five years when the divorce was finalised. She didn’t fight him because she felt guilty for leaving him alone for weeks on end to pursue her acting career. Gregg was highly educated but had no business acumen or desire to work. He was lonely, so she let him go.
He wasn’t lonely at all. He had a twenty-year-old to keep him company. Erica didn’t consider herself old at thirty-two, but Gregg was hooking up with a woman fifteen years younger than him, and it hit her in the stomach. Children would’ve come in the next couple of years. He didn’t have to wait too much longer.
On high alert, Erica wondered if she’d bolted the door so he couldn’t get in the house. Turning up to talk things through would be Gregg’s style. The thought of seeing him again brought acid water into her throat. It was enough to motivate her to her feet. Snatching a silk robe off the hook in the bathroom, she hurried down two flights of stairs to her front door. She hurriedly checked all the locks, thanking her absent memory for locking up before crawling into bed.
Her phone was face down on the hallway carpet. She lifted it to see the screen cracked so severely that she wondered if it had hit a wall before landing on the floor. Her phone was dead, battered, and would unlikely never work again. There wasn’t anyone she wanted to talk to, anyway.
Dashing back up the stairs, she entered her shower and turned off the water. Collecting her clothes, Erica dumped them in the bin and then turned the water back on again. She needed to wash off the night before and figure out what she would do.
Back downstairs half an hour later, she’d plugged her phone in and was surprised it was working. Making a call to her assistant to get a new phone delivered, she avoided all social media and news and then called her manager.
“I remember nothing between the second line of my speech and about an hour ago. Tell me I didn’t humiliate myself.”
“It’s good to hear your voice, love. No is the answer. You asked me to take you to the airport, but then you were going to do that anyway, but you also asked me to get you a sleeping pill for the flight. So I came with you, helped you inside your home, and left you alone at your request. But, of course, I didn’t leave you alone. I stayed for a few hours to ensure you slept soundly and returned to my place.”
“I’m sorry I acted like a diva,” she said.
The phone was on speaker on her kitchen counter, and Erica had her head in her hands as she spoke.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Yanny asked.
“My shithead ex-husband’s whore cornered me in the bathrooms before my category was announced. She-Monica, demanded I give my husband the divorce he apparently keeps asking for a while she stroked her swollen belly.”
“Fuck,” Yanny said. “I’m on my way. Get the kettle on, lovely.”
“Thanks, Yanny,” Erica said, trying and failing to hide her sob.
“I won’t be long. Hold tight,” Yanny said and ended the call .
Erica put the phone face down as messages flooded her screen. She hated her reaction to Gregg and Monica. What did it matter now? She was divorced. Deep down, she knew why it hurt so much.
She’d always believed marriage was for life.