39. Bambi
Bambi
She gargles and spits, slightly better but still nauseous. She wonders if she has food poisoning and then stands, realizing she feels a little dizzy, her body tender.
How long has it been since she had a period? She can’t remember, and anyway, it’s always irregular.
Bambi gets up and puts on her cream silk robe.
She closes their bedroom door softly and goes downstairs into the office.
Bambi sits in Martha’s chair and steadies herself.
Her mind wanders to the last time Martha was with her and the promise they made together.
She flicks open her laptop. The light from the computer illuminates the room in a pale blue light and makes her fingers glow whiter than the eggshell trim on the walls.
She opens the web browser and sets it to private.
Her stomach flips, not from what had happened the night before at the steakhouse but from what she is about to type.
Martha had warned her against this. She said to be patient, but Bambi can’t help herself.
Her fingers tap the keys, formulating a question she thought she’d never ask.
A noise from upstairs startles her, a footstep on one of the stairs or a creak from one of the empty rooms above her.
She freezes, straining in the darkness to listen.
The house hums quietly, its heating and filtration systems kicking on and off every so often.
The creak surfaces again, louder this time, followed by the sound of footfall.
“With everything going on, no one will think twice about it,” Martha had said. “You could practically get away with murder.”
Of course, the scandal would be the perfect cover. With the media focused on Jason and Lauren LaMonte, no one will think twice about it. All the questions will link back to him. More scandal. More drama. And she will be the desperate, loyal wife who did nothing wrong.
Bambi sits up as the dim light of the landing switches on. A haze of warm yellow illuminates the hallway leading toward her office. Jason comes down the stairs, his feet hitting heavily against the wood floor.
Bambi deletes the search and closes the tab. She shuts the laptop quietly and slides it away. When she looks up, Jason is in the doorway, his eyes dark.
“What are you doing up?” she says, attempting to sound cheerful.
Jason moves toward the chair in front of her desk that she sometimes sits in while Martha is working. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me either. Do you want something to drink?”
Jason shakes his head. “You know what’s been bothering me?”
His eyes enliven, and she turns away, breaking his gaze. “What, Jason?”
“I’ve been thinking, what is it you’ve been doing these past few months?”
Her heartbeat quickens. “What do you mean?”
Jason nodded. “I checked your calendar. You didn’t have any shoots while I was away, but you booked a shoot in Cancun. Exactly when I’d be home again. Strange.”
A tiny blockage collects in her gullet. She doesn’t like being questioned. “Things have been a bit slow, I guess,” she says. She leans forward, feeling emboldened. “I haven’t exactly been able to work lately with my leg. There’s still a scar.”
“Your leg? What’s wrong with your leg?”
“It got infected. From that night in the bathroom.”
He sighs as if the information is an inconvenience to him. “And another thing. Who is Martha, Bambi?”
Her heart races, a bolt of panic in her chest. Somehow, she had always envisioned that she would be long gone before he ever found out about Martha. How had he?
“What?” is the only thing she can think to say.
“I asked Lucita to order more beer, but she said Martha does all the shopping now. Who is Martha, Bambi?”
My helper. My savior. My guardian. My friend.
“She’s no one. Just a woman I hired to help me while you were gone.”
Jason smiles, his eyes narrowing. “What exactly do you need help with?”
Bambi swallows, her mind racing. With you. With what you’ve done. What you are.
“Just errands. No big deal.”
He slams his hand down on the desk, his face suddenly inches from hers. “Except it is. This is my house, too. Don’t you think I deserve to know who is working for my wife?”
Bambi smiles, but inside she is fuming. How dare he? With all the lies he’s told, all the mistrust he’s created. A wave of nausea pulses through her, and she pushes it down. If only she could run from the room, out into the fresh air. Escape this place. Escape him.
“That’s rich, coming from you,” she mutters.
Jason turns. “What did you say to me?”
“I said that’s rich coming from you! You’re on set after set sleeping with who knows how many actresses, and now you come home, all the scandal and lies taking over our life, Jason, and you want to try to tell me who I can and cannot hire?”
His chest heaves. His hand whips through the air so fast she cannot move. Her cheek blisters. Her eye explodes with pain. She gasps, unable to steady herself, and falls out of the chair to the ground.
He stands above her, breathing, watching her quiver.
“Don’t ever speak to me like that again.” Jason sniffs once and turns from her. “You’d better ice that face,” he sneers, “if you don’t want to make the Cancun directors throw up at the sight of you.”
She glares at him, her body pulsing, her face throbbing with pain. She longs to stand above him, to watch him cower, to see him suffer the way she has.
Sure, Jason Redfern was Jason Redfern before she found him.
But every bit of his success had been encouraged by her, supported by her, helped along by her.
When he failed, when the press hated him, when his phone didn’t ring, she was there to pick him back up again, keep him strong and going.
Jason Redfern, with his flashy career and adoring fans, needing her, keeping her, drawing from her like an endless well.
He’d become fat, suckling off her for over a decade.
She is unable to even justify why anymore.
And where would her career be now with what he’d done to her?
The bones in her body suddenly ache all over.
“You think you can keep this up, but you’re wrong,” she says quietly. “You don’t deserve this life. And soon, it’s all going to fall to pieces.”
He sits back and folds his hands in front of his lips. “You’re wrong about that, Bambs. I deserve it all. And more.”
She holds silent as he leans toward her.
“Don’t you think I deserve it all?”
“I think you deserve everything you get.”
In one swift motion, he pulls her up, hands tight around her waist. He pulls her to him, his expression vacant, like he feels nothing much at all. “Don’t ever try to leave me, Bambs,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “The only place you belong is right here with me.”