Chapter 36 1964
When I step out of my room three days before the wedding, a crowd is gathered in the corridor. The elevator is broken and nobody knows where the stairs are. When I pass through the lobby, the piano is all sharps. A cabana floats in the pool and the starlets stare, not knowing how to save it.
But at the penthouse, Theo greets me with a kiss. “My agent organized someone to bring up a rack of wedding dresses. I’m taking Adele out so you can spend the day choosing one. You don’t even need to leave the Marmont to do it.”
He and Adele look so pleased with themselves. But all I can think is, you told your agent?
Of course he did. Theo’s agent has to send out the press release informing everyone of our marriage after we’re away on our honeymoon, which will be one whole month on the French Riviera. We’ll hire a car and I’ll finally wear the scarf Nathalie gave me and it will ripple behind me like freedom.
“Aria,” Adele says, clearly exasperated by my distinct lack of enthusiasm. “Choose a dress. We’re going out to buy me a dress and do you see me pretending I don’t want one?” She aims her Winchester brows at me, then drags Theo out the door.
“I love you!” he calls over his shoulder.
Pilot bounds over, all tail wags and comfort. So I rub him behind the ears and decide to enjoy the very first time in my life when I get to choose a dress of my own.
I hear the rack rattling down the hall long before it arrives. Followed by Bob’s voice.
I throw the door open, wanting to get the dresses inside as fast as I can. Out there waiting for me is the woman from the store.
And Bob.
“Aria, dear,” he says with a smile that’s like barbed wire in a forest of tulle. “This charming young lady wasn’t sure where to find Theo Winchester’s penthouse with her delivery of wedding gowns. I didn’t even have to ask who they were for because I heard this morning that you’re the lucky woman.”
Heard? How?
“Come in,” I tell the saleslady, reminding myself, I’m marrying Theo. Bob’s no longer a threat.
Surely?
But it takes at least another minute to wrangle the stupid, attention-seeking rack inside.
Before I can shut the door, Bob proffers an envelope. “This was waiting for you in the lobby. I told them I’d bring it up.”
I grab the envelope, shove the door closed on Bob saying, “I hope nothing ruins your special day!”
I tear open the envelope. Inside is a card. The tarot Fool from Calliope’s party. He’s carrying his bundle on his back, face upturned to the sky. Were he to look down, he’d see the edge of the cliff he’s about to walk right over.
I crumple it up in my hand. Did Calliope send it?
Even though I’ve told myself not to bite my fingernails until after the wedding, they’re between my teeth.
I’m getting married in three days’ time on December 1, which was always meant to be my last day at the Marmont. Then I’ll be in France. Calliope can predict futures and Flitter can set herself alight and Bob can make threats and none of it will matter.
Except it will. Because I know what Bob is truly capable of.
My breath is loud. In front of me, the wedding gowns look like the specters of women who expected happiness and got served life instead.
I have to get this over with.
I point to the first dress on the rack: a pale pink mini dress with cap sleeves.
“Oooh,” the sales assistant enthuses, glad I’m behaving somewhat normally at last. “That will look darling with your short hair.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You’re not going to try it on?”
“Isn’t it bad luck?”
“Only if the groom sees you. You need a veil too. Something like this.”
She pulls out a tiny hat with a short, chin-length veil and places it on my head and now I can see the world through rose-colored tulle.
The door clicks and Theo hurries in, calling, “I forgot my wallet!” One hand is faux-shading his eyes. But he’s human, and humans always want to look.
He peeks.
He sees me in the veil.
I hurl it off my head. “It’s bad luck!”
“Only if he sees the dress,” the woman consoles me.
But nobody knows where the bad luck really lives. In gas stations and libraries. In vodka bottles and Vegas chapels. In stars that should have had the decency to fall before you wished upon them.
What I do next is madness. I go up to the turret, Pilot glued to my heels—I try to leave him in the penthouse, but he won’t stop whining. I take out my suitcase and pack. Not with things I need for my honeymoon. But with things I’d need if I ran.
Where I think I might be running to, or why, I can’t say. All I know is that into my life came fire, then other people’s ambitions, and my god, what an inferno they made.
Pilot picks up my shoes in his mouth and drags them out of the case. I put them back in. He removes them again.
I squat down, wrap my arms around him. “Are you trying to tell me I’m being paranoid?”
He wags his tail.
I’m talking to a dog. Packing suitcases. Thinking bridal veils are augurs of doom. Not speaking to my friends. I really am the madwoman in the castle.
But even that doesn’t stop me.
“Sorry, boy,” I tell Pilot.
I gather up my journals and add them to the suitcase. On top I place War and Peace, which only holds the money from the past couple of weeks.
Then I creep downstairs to my aunt’s suite, go into her bedroom, take out the diamond engagement ring, and hide that in my suitcase too.
That night, when Jupiter and Isaiah are on their break, I drag the suitcase down to the garage.
There’s a secret in that garage—a tunnel that runs underneath the spinning showgirl and into what used to be the Players Club.
The club is abandoned now, but the tunnel still stands with all of its secrets. Tonight, it’s a witness to my affairs.
I leave the suitcase hidden behind a pillar near the exit, in case instead of a wedding in three days’ time, there’s another fire where my future burns.