Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
I t had been at least a half hour since Darcy had seen Joel or Reese at the party. She’d abandoned her glass of wine somewhere, maybe on the shelf by the globe, but she couldn’t remember, and it didn’t matter anyway. She had no plans to drink it or even to pretend to drink it. Her jet lag had caught up with her at the worst possible time. Her stomach sloshed unhappily. It was as though the baby wanted to get as far from here as possible. As though he or she craved the comforts of family, of home, and of Steven. But Steven still hadn’t texted, and she’d begun to panic.
You’re in Rome. You’re chasing your dreams while Steven is chasing his. You can do this.
Darcy wandered through the party and took stock of the beautiful guests, wondering if she would ever feel like one of them. Over the past few weeks, she’d spent probably sixty or seventy hours with Carlotta, and thus far, Carlotta had shown her very little of her intimate life. She hadn’t spoken of her relationship with Bobby beyond the stuff he’d bought her and her friendships beyond what her friends could offer them in terms of money.
It occurred to Darcy that that kind of world didn’t appeal to her.
But back in Martha’s Vineyard, Carlotta had seemed so glamorous. So outside of the box. She’d demanded so much more of herself than Darcy ever had. And she’d picked Darcy as her own.
Darcy didn’t know what to do, so she went to the bathroom and did what she always did during a crisis of faith. She called her sister.
Rachelle answered the video call from the safety of the walk-in fridge at the restaurant. Her cheeks were pink from a stressful shift. “What’s up? How is it? Are you a millionaire yet?”
Darcy giggled and felt the tension loosen out of her shoulders. “I don’t know if I can do this. Everyone is gorgeous. Everyone is wearing too much perfume.” She paused. “And I can’t find Reese or Joel anywhere. I’m so lost.”
Rachelle had a fleck of food on her cheek. Darcy decided not to mention it.
“You know you can quit this whenever you want,” Rachelle said.
Darcy stammered, “I can’t quit everything the minute I feel uncomfortable. Life is about discomfort. Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I tend to think that’s a lie people tell themselves to pretend to be happy with their choices,” Rachelle said.
Darcy was flummoxed. “I thought you said life in the kitchen is hell?”
“It’s my favorite thing in the world,” Rachelle said. “It’s hot, and it’s crazy, but I know in my heart it’s what I’m meant to do.” She paused. “Do you feel in your heart you’re meant to be at that party?”
Darcy burst with surprise laughter. “It’s just one night,” she reminded herself and Rachelle. “I can get through a few more hours. Probably.”
Rachelle waved her hand. “I’m sure you’re right. Go show them how incredible you are. Tomorrow, we can talk more about this and decide what’s right for you. And for the baby !”
Darcy grinned from ear to ear. It surprised her how pleased she was to talk openly about the baby. “The baby,” she repeated.
“Love you,” Rachelle burst with, as someone pounded on the fridge door. “Gotta go.”
Darcy cleaned her face in the mirror and headed back into the party. She spotted Carlotta in the corner, holding court for people Darcy recognized as either potential investors or people who wore similar clothing to the other potential investors. Everyone looked the same: glossy and rich. Her heart dropped. Remember what you told Rachelle. It’s just one night. Nothing can hurt you.
Suddenly, she felt hot air on the back of her neck, followed by the words, “You’re looking quite dashing this evening.”
Darcy spun around to find Bobby Ringmaker leering down at her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and reminded herself This is Carlotta’s boyfriend. You have to be nice to him.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice shaking. “You look great, too.”
Bobby was red-faced from drinking too much. He held a whiskey in a fat hand, and his oiled hair had loosened across the side so that it hung and flapped. But it was clear nobody at this party would ever tell him he looked anything but brilliant. He might not be the wealthiest one here, but he was certainly the most brash and arrogant.
“I’d love it if you met my dear friend Matthew,” he said. “He’s one of the potential investors for your little art project.”
Darcy’s heart seized. Art project? But she kept her smile plastered to her face. She remembered hearing Matthew’s name from Carlotta. He was very rich and successful; his fourth wife had gone through numerous wellness and beauty regimes, which meant he was familiar with this sort of product’s necessity. Darcy yearned to pitch in front of women instead, but sensed that money still existed in the hands of the men. Carlotta was a go-between. A mediator.
And Carlotta had said, Take every opportunity that’s handed to you. Open yourself up. Smile.
Darcy followed Bobby on shaking legs, cursing the heels Rachelle had called “chic” that afternoon. She’d said, This is the look that’s going to get you funding. Nobody could refuse you in this.
But what if you refuse them instead? Darcy asked herself.
Bobby led her into a side study where three men in suits drank reeking whiskey and smoked thick cigars. Darcy suppressed the urge to cough and cough and gave them a meek smile. A window was cracked, and she slipped over toward it to catch a light breeze.
“This is Carlotta’s newest mentee,” Bobby announced. “Isn’t she a dream?”
The three men nodded and exchanged Italian phrases as they watched her. One of them was the American, Matthew, but his Italian was just as good as the others, and Darcy couldn’t tell the difference. Her stomach roiled. She imagined herself throwing up and running out of there.
“Carlotta tells me the girl has several pitches this week. Some of them with you?” Bobby went on.
“I believe we’re set for Friday night,” the man in the middle said. This was the American. Matthew. His eyes glinted. “But I wouldn’t mind a preview.”
Bobby clapped his hands. “We’ll need to get the girl a drink! Help her loosen up!”
Darcy watched with horror as the men reached for a crystal glass and filled it with an inch of premium whiskey. She could do nothing but smile and take it with a shaking hand.
“I would really prefer to pitch when Carlotta is here,” Darcy stuttered uselessly. “She has a necessary part in the, um, performance.”
“I’ve seen Carlotta pitch hundreds of times,” one of the men said. “I know exactly what she’s going to say and when she’s going to say it. That isn’t to say she isn’t talented. I’ve just stopped buying into it every time. It’s just boring. You understand?”
Darcy furrowed her brow. Isn’t Carlotta the best in the business? Didn’t she say she could get investors at every turn?
“They throw their money around for just about any pretty face they see,” Bobby said. It was clear he was trying to assure her. As though being “just any pretty face” pleased her.
Darcy was trying to breathe, but everything smelled of whiskey and cigar smoke, and her legs shivered beneath her. She needed water desperately. She’d begun to think she wasn’t actually here, that she was having a nightmare, tossing and turning in Steven’s bed. Maybe soon, he’d whisper in her ear and say, wake up, sweetie. You’re having a dream.
Darcy wet her lips and filled her lungs with rancid air. Focus. You can do this.
“I’ve worked as an aesthetician for more than five years,” Darcy said as her eyes filled with tears. “Which for many people sounds like a cushy job. But it’s far from it. I witness women in every stage of life; in every stage of personal acceptance; in every stage of experimentation. And it’s clear to me that nobody knows quite what they’re doing when it comes to anti-aging and feeling like their best self.”
The words poured out of her, just as she’d rehearsed, but Darcy’s vision was slippery and tilting. The piano in the corner seemed to twist on its head. And the four men before her had their mouths open, exhaling cigar smoke and leering at her as though they wanted far more from her than her pitch. They were in their fifties, sixties, with more money than God.
And it suddenly occurred to Darcy that she was just a part of their sick and twisted show.
She stopped talking and bit her tongue. Bobby blocked the exit, and she imagined putting her head down and head-butting him so that she could get past. She considered screaming Reese’s name. But something told her Reese and Joel weren’t there anymore either. That she was alone on this planet of wealth and horror.
Suddenly, Bobby cleared the distance between them, wrapped his arm around her, and said, “That was just a preview, gentlemen. She’ll give you the full show in a few days.”
“I was just getting into it,” one of them whined.
“It was really quite an accomplished, erm, few sentences,” another said.
“Shall we all give her a round of applause?” Bobby asked, drawing her tighter against him.
Darcy wanted to smack him away. Her neck was slick with sweat, and she shook violently. Couldn’t he tell? Couldn’t he see how sick she was? Suddenly, his lips were so close to her ear that she thought he was going to kiss her. She froze.
That was when she saw Carlotta in the doorway. Carlotta looked regal, like an evil queen who’d just decided to abandon her kingdom during the plague. She glowered at Darcy. She looked like she hated her. And maybe all this time she really had.
Maybe Carlotta was acting, too. Maybe it was all an elaborate show.
Bobby removed his arm from Darcy’s shoulders and took a dramatic step back. “There you are! I was looking all over for you, my darling. Darcy wanted to give us a preview for her pitch. And she’s really done so well. Hasn’t she, boys?”
The three other men in the room grinned as though they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. They’d been “flirting” with Carlotta’s “mentee.” Darcy hadn’t welcomed any of it. She clutched harder to the whiskey glass she hadn’t drank anything of.
Carlotta’s eyes glinted menacingly. It was clear she was enraged. Maybe she thought Darcy was after Bobby. Maybe she considered Darcy a sudden threat. She frowned and approached Darcy, and Darcy couldn’t imagine what she would say.
“Aren’t you going to drink your whiskey, Darcy?” Carlotta whispered. “It’s really quite expensive. That pour alone is, what? Bobby, what is it? Five hundred euro? A thousand?”
Darcy’s knees clicked together. It’s like she knows you’re pregnant. It’s like she wants to make a fool out of you.
It’s because she’s jealous.
Carlotta’s face was a shiny mash. Darcy’s vision was black and speckled with stars. She wet her lips a final time and tried to regain her composure, but she wobbled back and forth and felt herself falling even before she was diagonal. She felt the crack of her head against the side of a chair, then felt the rest of her body collapse like a string bean over the floor. Next came the cry of alarm from one of the men. Maybe that was the one who had the most compassion for her. Perhaps that was the only one who saw she was really suffering. After that, everything went black.