Chapter 45
IT’S LIKE SHE’S NICOLETTE MONTES playing Cole Lennox playing Nicolette Montes. She’s the same and yet not the same.
She’s everything she said she wanted to be, and Barb still doesn’t know how to feel about that.
“Can I come in?” Nicolette asks her. In one hand is a pint of Tillamook Mudslide ice cream. In the other, a pint of Oregon Dark Cherry. “My hands are freezing.”
“But we just had dinner,” Barb says, feeling self-conscious. She’d left Ray’s about a half hour earlier and, assuming she was in for the night, had immediately changed into her old sweatpants and Garfield T-shirt. Once again, here she is, standing in front of a Montes looking like a cat lady.
Only now there’s no cat, because Dexter isn’t here anymore.
Her furry house guest hadn’t stayed long, but the evidence he’d been here is everywhere—on the sofa, all over her bed, and all throughout the pile of clean laundry she hadn’t gotten around to folding.
It makes her sad, reminding her that she really is alone.
She’d been anticipating a night of feeling sorry herself, which she can’t well do if the woman she resents most in the world is here.
“Barb, seriously,” Nicolette says, exasperated. “Can I come in or not?”
Sighing, Barb lets her in.
Nicolette kicks her shoes off and heads straight for the kitchen. Placing the ice cream on the counter, she opens the drawer closest to the sink and pulls out two spoons. She hands one of them to Barb and then pushes over the container of Mudslide without asking which flavor she’d prefer.
She picked the right one, of course. Just like she knew not to bother asking if Barb even wanted ice cream.
“The house looks exactly the same,” Nicolette says as they move to the living room. She takes the lid off her pint of dark cherry and takes a huge spoonful of the ice cream before she even sits down.
“I haven’t gotten around to redoing—”
“That’s not a bad thing.” Nicolette offers her a small smile. “Some of my happiest memories happened here, in your house, with you and your mom.”
They sit on the opposite ends of the sofa and eat their cold dessert in silence.
Nicolette devours hers as if she hasn’t had ice cream in twenty years, savoring every mouthful as if it might be her last. In person and without makeup, the changes to her friend’s appearance since they last saw each other are more apparent than they were on TV.
Nicolette’s bare lips are fuller. Her forehead is annoyingly unlined for a woman her age.
Her hair is highlighted. But her eyes haven’t changed.
“What?” Nicolette finally asks her. “What are you staring at? You’re being rude.”
“You would know,” Barb said. “You practically taught classes on how to be rude back in high school.”
The other woman rolls her eyes.
“Ah, there it is,” Barb says with a smile. “The infamous Nicolette Montes eye roll. You could have also led a seminar called How to Be a Mean Girl.”
“For fuck’s sake, I’ve been here for five minutes,” Nicolette snaps. “Are you trying to pick a fight? You want me to go?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I realize it’s been a long time. I haven’t even seen you since—”
“The day you bailed on me,” Barb says.
“Bailed?” Nicolette lowers her spoon. “What the hell are you talking about? I moved in with Ray. My dad was in prison and my mother was a drunk—”
“And Lorelei was dead,” Barb says through gritted teeth, her patience running thin. “Because of what we did to her. And before her body was even found, you left me here to live with that, and you went and built yourself a whole new life, and bought yourself a whole new face.”
It’s a low blow, unkind and uncalled for, and Barb regrets the words the second they’re out of her mouth. But whatever. Nicolette has dished out more than her fair share of unprovoked insults, and now she makes a seven-figure living doing it on Trophy Wives. She can handle it.
“Okay, wow,” Nicolette says, putting the ice cream down. “Now who’s being mean? I’ve only done injectables, no matter what those gossip sites say.” She shakes her head. “What the hell happened to you? You used to be the nice one.”
“No, I used to be the doormat. The referee. The mediator. The one you left behind to keep our secret and live with our guilt, while you went on to better and bigger things.”
“Nobody told you to stay in Seaside,” Nicolette says. “You could have left anytime. Wasn’t that always your plan?”
“Plans change.” Barb finally looks away. “My mom was sick for a really long time, and then she died right before lockdowns. Where could I go?”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that, but I don’t feel sorry for you.
” There’s no bite in Nicolette’s voice now.
“You’re lucky you had the mom you did, even if you did lose her too soon.
If I had a mother like yours, I would have stayed, too, because if it wasn’t for her, I’d have had nowhere to go where I actually felt safe.
I think I slept more at your house than I did at mine.
I wouldn’t have survived back then if it wasn’t for you and your mom looking out for me.
I’m sorry I never told you that, and I’m even sorrier I never got to tell your mom.
I loved her.” She exhales. “I loved you both. I know I was a dick back then, but I was so angry all the time, and there was no place for it to go, other than here, to you. You never deserved it, and I’m sorry, Barb. ”
Dammit. Barb has no comeback for this, because one isn’t warranted. All she can do is acknowledge the apology. She nods.
“And let me tell you a secret, something I’ve learned and that I’ve never told anyone else,” Nicolette says.
“It turns out life isn’t better elsewhere.
It’s just shitty in a different way, but with a bigger house and nicer clothes and better food.
” She picks up her ice cream. “Now I’m going to finish this pint of Tillamook Oregon Dark Cherry because we don’t have it in Toronto and I’ve missed it so fucking much. ”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat that much ice cream in one sitting.”
“Because I never have, ding-dong,” Nicolette says. “I’ve spent my entire life since puberty counting calories, fat grams, carbs, macros, going low sugar, no sugar, caveman, keto, plant-based, and for three painful months, I even went vegan.”
“And so what’s this diet called?” Barb asks as she watches her friend take another giant spoonful.
“It’s called Fuck It,” Nicolette says. “And I have to say it’s the best one yet.”
* * *
After the ice cream, they were both craving salt, and Barb brought out a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and a couple of root beers.
Their conversation topics ranged all over, from Nicolette offering insider tidbits about Trophy Wives to Barb updating her on the people they grew up with and what they’re all doing now.
There’s snark, of course. But mostly there’s laughter, and despite everything, Barb has missed this.
Barb has missed her.
Nicolette finishes her root beer, then burps. It’s long and loud and actually pretty impressive. “There,” she says, looking satisfied. “I feel better.”
“How come you never do that on the show?” Barb asks, eating another Cheeto.
“I do, sometimes. They just edit it out. Doesn’t fit their image of me.”
“Which is what, an uptight backstabbing bitch?”
“You forgot rich,” Nicolette says. “And I only backstabbed one person.”
“Two. Lisa-Marie in season five and Devon in season six,” Barb says. “You watch the show?” Nicolette seems surprised. “Not even Ray watches the show. But my father did. Apparently Trophy Wives is a prison favorite.”
“How’s that going?” Barb asks. “With Richard?”
“I don’t know yet.” Nicolette is quiet for a moment. “I know he’s trying to change, but I don’t know if I believe people can. When I look at him, I still see the same angry asshole he used to be when me and Ray were kids.”
“It’s funny, when he came back to live with Ray, I was surprised he wasn’t . . . bigger.” Barb pushes the bag of Cheetos away. “I remember him as being really intimidating. Now he’s just . . .”
“Old.” Nicolette takes a sip of her soda.
“So what do I call you now?” Barb asks. “I still think of you as Nicolette. It’s almost as if Cole Lennox is just a character you play on TV.”
“Might as well be. I changed my name because I hated being Nicolette. But now I kind of hate being Cole.” She shrugs. “Call me whatever you want, it’s fine.”
Barb nods.
“Speaking of remembering someone as bigger . . . I ran into Hawk at the coffee shop.”
Here we go. She’d been wondering which one of them would bring it up.
“That was inevitable,” Barb says. “I see him all the time. He never left Seaside, and a few years ago, he married a former student, and they have two young kids. Though of course the official story is that they didn’t start dating until a year after she graduated.”
Nicolette’s laugh is bitter. “I should be shocked, but I’m not.” And then, in a softer voice, “How do you stand it? Seeing him everywhere?”
“I never left, either,” Barb says. “So it feels . . . normal.”
A silence falls between them.
“What happened with me and Hawk back then . . .” Nicolette shifts in her seat.
“I really wanted to tell you, but I was scared you’d hate me, and I couldn’t risk that.
There were times when it felt like you were the only person in the world who didn’t think I was a total bitch.
You always forgave me for all the shit I said. ”
“Well, you were a bitch, but I was also kind of pathetic.”
“No, you were just kind.” Nicolette smiles and looks down.
“It took me a while to unpack how fucked up that whole situation was. I was fifteen and pregnant with our teacher’s baby.
Looking back now, that’s absolutely bonkers, on so many levels.
But at the time, I remember feeling so flattered that he was interested in me. He didn’t seem old to me.”
“Because he wasn’t,” Barb says. “He was young then. But old enough to know better.”
“I knew back then you were angry Hawk didn’t pick you,” Nicolette says. “But at the same time, thank god he didn’t pick you, right?”
“He did pick me,” Barb says quietly. “After you left. It went on for . . . a while.”
Nicolette looks startled. It takes a few seconds before she speaks. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you, too,” Barb says.
“Why did we never tell anyone?” Nicolette asks.
“Because he made us care about him. And when you care about someone, you don’t want to hurt them. That, and he knew about Lorelei.” Barb sighs. “There was no way to reveal one secret without revealing it all.”
Nicolette is quiet, and Barb wonders if she’s thinking about the baby.
“What would have happened if Figg hadn’t confessed?” Nicolette finally asks. “Would we have eventually been arrested? Would we have gone to jail?”
Barb shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“But Hawk told us—”
“Hawk told us a lot a lot of things that weren’t true,” Barb says. “And I’ve spent a lot of time trying to understand why. I think he helped us back then because he knew we’d owe him. That Figg ending up confessing was just . . . luck. Except, of course, now he’s recanting.”
“So let him,” Nicolette says, waving a manicured hand. “What difference will it make? Samuel Figg is an old serial killer howling at the wind. Did you know he and my father were cellmates for a time?”
Barb’s mouth drops open. “You’re kidding.”
“What’s funny is Jana Jones didn’t seem to know I had a father in prison who knew him, or I’m certain she would have brought it up to get a reaction out of me.
” Nicolette looks away for a moment. “I had to do the interview, you know. Quan gave me no choice if I wanted a contract for next year. But don’t worry, I stuck to the story. ”
Barb exhales.
“Look, it’s not public yet, but I’m getting divorced,” Nicolette says quietly.
“I need at least one more season of Trophy Wives to change the narrative about me so that what happened at RealityCon isn’t the only thing people think of when they hear my name.
I’m . . . I’m sure you saw what happened in Las Vegas last month. The videos were everywhere.”
“Glynnis Glenn set you up,” Barb blurts before she can think about it. “I watched some of the videos back, and it was clear she was trying to provoke you when you were already upset about something. You were baited.”
Nicolette stares at her. “How can you be sure about that?”
“Because I know Glynnis.” Barb swallows, wondering if she can bring herself to actually say the words. But it’s now or never. “I . . . I write for Reality Bitch. Or at least I . . . did.”
Nicolette’s eyes widen, and she sits back as the realization hits her. “Oh my god. Please don’t tell me that you’re the one who—”
“I do all the Trophy Wives recaps,” Barb says before she can chicken out. “It’s my main assignment.”
“That’s why they always feel so personal.” Nicolette looks horrified. “Everyone said I was reading too much into them, but all these years, it always felt like someone on that site genuinely hated me. Those posts were too mean, too intentional, to just be some freelancer with no life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” she explodes, jumping to her feet. “You’re sorry for talking shit about me and my life every goddamned week?”
“I was upset after Lorelei—”
“We were both upset, Barb!” Nicolette’s face has turned a dark maroon.
If she were a dog, she’d be foaming at the mouth.
“After all this time, you’re still the same resentful bitch you’ve always been, and that’s why you’re still here, stuck in Seaside, doing none of the things you said you wanted to do.
This sad little life you live? You built it all by yourself. ”
“Nicolette—”
“No, you don’t get to call me that,” Nicolette says, leaping off the sofa and heading for the front door. “Don’t call me anything. In fact, don’t call me ever.”
“I’m sorry!” Barb says desperately, following behind.
“Fuck you.”
The door slams shut, and through the living room window, Barb watches as her childhood friend storms back across the street and into her own house. She doesn’t need to hear it to know that Nicolette slammed that door as hard as she could, too.
Awesome. That went well.