Chapter 22
Lucy
Harrowing, texts Donna. Evil. Don’t watch the replays.
That bad, huh? I respond. Great. I knew it. Public humiliation.
Yup. Sorry, kid.
Should have known better.
Donna sends me a crazy face emoji.
Need a day off?
No way. I want to be so busy I can’t think about anything but packing tape.
Donna promises me triple shifts for the next two days. If I had time to think, I’d wonder whether I should hide my face, but I haven’t done anything wrong. Instead, I’ll lift my chin.
The network uses their allegations as a banner for two days, with clips of me looking pathetic, but I comfort myself that the initial interview was live, and I know that some people saw the full thing.
Somewhere in that blur of busy-ness, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Amaryllis with more elderberry wine, her eyes large behind the lenses, all concern and sympathy.
“I knew you looked familiar, Lucy, but I couldn’t think where I’d seen you before. Were you married to Bart Hardenburg?”
I nod and let her in.
“No wine now, though, please, Amaryllis. Feeling a bit fragile.”
“Of course you are,” she says. “I only ever turn on the tv to see the weather, but they kept replaying bits of that interview. You were so strong. Violetta is awful. I’ve written to the network in protest.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m here if you want to talk about it. And if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay, too. I want you to know I’m here for you.”
She’s so soft and gentle, her mauve clothes all draped about her. She looks like a stalk of lavender.
“Come and see my lamps, Amaryllis. I’d like to make one for you. We can talk about shapes and colors.”
She chooses a bell shaped shade, and loves the idea of a fringe of transparent pale pink beads. I find myself spilling the whole story as she flips through my fabrics.
“When Phoebe reached high school and began to spend more time with her friends, I had time on my hands. I picked up a job with a local hairdresser, coloring hair, but I was so tired at the end of the day, and after a week, Bart fixed me with his ice blue eyes and told me he earned enough for all of us and needed me at home. I tried to tell him it wasn’t about the money.
It was about being part of the wider world, but he told me to get a hobby.
“I gave up the job; did a course in stained glass, but cut my fingers; in oil painting, but had no talent and hated the smell; and then settled on upholstery. Suddenly, life had more purpose. I specialised in found objects – bringing old furniture to life again with simple repairs and swathes of bright fabric. I love a glue gun, Amaryllis! I found all the best fabric suppliers, and then started using the offcuts to re-cover lampshades.”
“They’re beautiful. You truly have a talent, Lucy.”
I nod.
“They were a hit at school fundraisers. Everyone wanted one. Then one wet weekend when Bart was away, Phoebe showed me how to use photos of my creations to make my own website, and Lucy’s Lamps was born, trading on e-Bay.
I started creating lamps to order. I still love my taglines.
‘Focus and flair’ and ‘light up your life.’ But Bart wasn’t pleased.
Not that he ever said so, but I’d had decades of deciphering the narrowing of his eyes. ”
“The private life of a public star...”
“Oh, Amaryllis. It was almost a relief when I found someone else’s lipstick on Bart’s collar,” I say.
“Bart had already accused me of paranoia, of listening at keyholes and eavesdropping. If I asked him what was happening at work, he’d snap an answer that put me in the wrong, as if I had no right to ask. ”
I shake my head, remembering. Amaryllis seems perfectly happy to hear how my life disintegrated – slowly at first, and then in an avalanche.
“The Minx – his personal assistant – would turn up at the house with some papers to be signed. I’d invite her in.
I thought of her as a friendly colleague.
What a blind fool I was! We’d swap news about the network – harmless chatter – while I stapled and glued my furniture.
It was insidious, Mishelle’s encroachment.
I’d offer to make her a coffee, and she’d tell me to keep my gloves on, and she’d do it.
Bart appreciated her visits. That’s an understatement. ”
Amaryllis nods.
“I should have been more suspicious, but Bart was a celebrity. Everywhere we went, people wanted selfies with him. He adored the attention, but it didn’t mean I had to be worried, to feel insecure about our beautiful family, did it?
Everyone knew he was my husband. It didn’t stop the Minx.
Next thing I knew, he announced she was going with him to New York, to help with social media for his next set of interviews.
“After that first trip, I asked him if I should be worried, and all he did was laugh, as if our marriage was rock solid and I’d made the funniest joke. Or maybe it was a laugh of delight, that he should be so lucky that Mishelle, more than three decades younger, would be interested in him.
“There were so many trips – to Toronto, to South East Asia, accompanying senators. Mishelle was in our home office almost every day, helping tee up the interviews, the accommodation, the flights. And then she was in our bedroom – selecting appropriate shirts and ties and jackets for his interviews; and shopping with him for whatever else was needed; something Bart and I used to do together. They’d be in the living room surrounded by shopping bags, feet up, elated, exhausted.
Of course I’d invite her to stay for dinner, to find out about the next trip. ”
Amaryllis shakes her head.
“I’m so sorry, Lucy. You didn’t deserve any of that. I’m so glad you’ve made a fresh start, and I think your lamps are amazing.”
She turns to me and holds out her arms. She’s as soft as she looks, like the petals of a flower. Somewhere under all the layers there’s a strong centre, as she hugs me as if I matter.
I sigh and we exchange a smile as she steps back.
“I have some deadlines on my reviews, so I have to get back, but don’t you ever feel alone, Lucy. You knock on my door any time you need to talk.”
Just as she leaves, my phone lights up.
You did not deserve that, Mom, texts Phoebe. I’m so surprised, in a good way, that I sit down on the spot, in my hallway, and stare at my phone. It’s real. I didn’t imagine it.
Thank you, darling, I reply. Nor did you. Sorry about that footage of you as a child.
Not your fault, she texts. I saw what they did to you. It’s called victim shaming. We’re learning about it in college...
I’m about to reply, when she shoots me another message.
I’m sorry I victim shamed you, too. I’ve been mean to you, Mom. I cradle my phone to my chest. I want to phone her, to invite her over again and give her a hug. But this is our first real exchange since I left Bart. I don’t want to chase her away again.
Darling, I text back. You were hurting. I love you.
Love you too, Mom.
I fist pump the air ten times. I almost phone Violetta to thank her, but I know that’s ridiculous.
There’s another knock on the door. This time it’s Mrs B.
“Oh, Lucy. That was so unfair.”
“The tv thing? Please come in, Mrs B. I have a gift for you.”
“A gift?”
“You’ve made me feel so welcome here.” I hope to shift the topic, but Mrs B is on to me and won’t let go.
“I just knew you were famous. I thought I recognised you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m not famous, Mrs B. Far from it. Bart is the famous one.”
“Well, I used to admire his reports, but my opinion has changed. I’m switching stations. What was he like, as a person? Is that insensitive of me to ask? I think I had a bit of a crush on him way back, not that I ever told Mr B. He just seemed so authoritative. You’re not on drugs, are you?”
“Of course not. She made all that up. Bart was great in the early years, Mrs B, especially when we first met and I fell completely under his spell. He turned up in the network hair and make-up studio, an exhausted District Attorney, about to be interviewed on Prime Time, our channel’s most popular public affairs show.
The director told me Bart looked ‘scary,’” I tell Mrs B.
“‘If you don’t clean him up, Lucy, viewers will think he’s the criminal. ”
Mrs B’s eyes widen.
“I was fresh out of beauty school. I knew about perms, and short back and sides for the military, but Bart was one of my first male cuts. He fell asleep at the washbowl, and I wondered about this powerful legal expert, helpless as a baby beneath my touch.”
No amount of pain can destroy the wonder of our first moments together.
“Bart’s appearance on the network was such a hit, they called him in as a regular to comment on criminal rulings. Off camera, he smouldered more each time I worked on him. One night, he grabbed my hand and insisted I go out with him after my shift, at half past nine at night.”
Mrs raises her eyebrows.
“It was a whirlwind. I was just twenty when we married. As Bart’s star rose, I made everything work behind the scenes.
I found our first apartment, then moved us to our larger home on a big block of land – for privacy – and renovated it.
Phoebe arrived, and I fell in love again, with my baby.
Motherhood consumed me, and Bart extended his work travels.
I closed my ears to rumors and kept myself busy. ”
“But the rumors were true?”
I nod.
“Well that’s not your fault. And that Violetta ...”
“It’s okay, Mrs B. Brighton Court is my fresh start. Come and see what I made you.”
Mrs B falls on the orange and lime lampshades as if they’re babies. She practically coos.
“I adore them. You clever, clever person, Lucy! Bart doesn’t know what he let go.”
“You’re right, Mrs B.”
“Well, personally, I’m glad he let you go. I can’t wait to try these in my apartment.”
“Thanks for your visit, Mrs B.”
“Thanks for the chat.”
Two days later I get a call from Chad. My finger hesitates over the button, but I end up taking it.
“Thanks for nothing, Chad,” I say.
“Not my idea,” he says.
“But you went along with it. I thought we were friends. I wanted to ask about your family, but you just threw me into the snake pit.”
“I’m sorry, Lucy. I just want you to know we pulled the banner.”
“After two days, huh? Should I be grateful? Why did you pull it? Worried I’ll sue?”
“We got hundreds of complaints and lost a big advertiser. Violetta’s lost so many viewers she’s being retrenched.”
“Sorry to hear it, and not sorry. Violetta was brilliant. She was wasted on that show. I guess you’re safe, are you? I know you have to feed your family. But don’t call me again.”
Chad sighs as if he’s sorry. It’s not enough.
Are you okay? texts Dirk.
I am okay, I text back.
Come and see me, he texts.
Yes, I text back, but I am flat out unpacking for strangers and tired at the end of each day. If he thinks I’m a drug addict, I don’t really want to know.
My phone rings as I’m taking down the trash, and I grab it and stab at the green button, then put it on speaker so I have a spare hand.
It’s Donna, thanking me for working so hard.
“Is that all, Donna? I’m grateful for the work. You know that.”
“So tell me again about your hot neighbor,” she says.
“Donna! We’re far too old for this kind of conversation.”
“Nonsense, girlfriend. I read ‘later in life’ romance and you’re never too old. We’re human, aren’t we? Anything is possible.”
“But not probable.”
“The bait is not stale, Lucy. You’re beautiful and smart and generous and attractive. Bart was an idiot.”
“I agree with you there.”
“You won’t stay single for long. Go on. Tell me about that hottie neighbor? I can’t believe what you told me about you meeting way back in the old days, when you were in your twenties. How good is that! What’s his name?"
I check the stairwell, check no neighbors’ doors are open, then whisper my response.
“Dr Dirk O’Connell MD.” I blush. Just saying his whole name out loud gives me little flutters in my stomach. Do I have a crush on Dirk?
“A hot doc, huh? What’s he look like?”
“Mature. Salt and pepper hair. He’s considerate. Smart. Educated. A bit old-fashioned. Great body; tall and strong. Nicely groomed. Well, his hair’s on the long side, but I can fix that. Lovely manners.”
“And single.”
“Yes. Widower. Couple of children; even a couple of grandchildren who adore him. I’ve seen them together here once. Coming in to visit. They’re cuties.”
“Children know.”
“How would you know, Donna? You live with a pet.”
“There’s always family in seasoned romances. You don’t get to that age without a grown-up child here or there.”
“I love the way you want to fix me up with a new partner so quickly and you don’t even have one yourself.”
“Rex and I have been going steady for ten years.”
“He’s a dog.”
“Uhuh. Loyal as they come.”
“You’re ridiculous, Donna.”
“That’s why you love me.”
It’s only as I’m inserting my key into my lock, that I see him. Dirk O’Connell passes me with a strange smile. Did he hear every word?
I rush inside, slam my door and lean against it, trying to hide my smile. Donna’s right. I have a crush on my neighbor, and it gives me more of a thrill than I want to admit.
“What happened?” she says.
“I think he heard us,” I say, and we laugh so hard my stomach aches.