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“Kal. Is that you?”
I let her stare. I look nothing like she remembers.
To be fair, she looks nothing like she used to, either. At her wedding, the gawky, skinny girl with terrible acne and braces was already long gone. But even then, in her couture wedding gown, she’d still had an air of insecurity around her. Today, Regan Wilde-Landel stands in front of me in all of her glory.
She looks perfect. Her hair is a sleek sea of chocolate silk whipped into beautiful waves that hover at her shoulders. I only see hair that perfect in magazines. No one looks like that in real life.
Well no one, but Regan.
Her tanned, honey skin is polished and glows, against the white of her body-hugging blouse. Her makeup so expertly applied that I wonder if maybe she doesn’t have it tattooed into place. Her body, even after three children, is ridiculously toned.
She’s dressed head to toe in Carolina Herrera couture. Black pencil skirt, white blouse with flounces at the sleeves. A sexy, but simple pair of black patent leather Louboutin’s adorn her small, perfectly lovely feet. Small gold hoops dangle from her ears. A simple gold band on her finger where most wealthy women wear their huge diamonds.
She doesn’t need diamonds to declare that she has a right to be here. She is a diamond. Of the first water. And she’s come fully into her own.
I’m envious of that. I’m still sifting through the rubble of my life to figure out who I am. Today I’m dressed like the journalist I wish I was. In clothes I can no longer afford to buy. My once unfettered dark curls have been blown straight, highlighted with gold and restrained in the confines of my signature ponytail. I’ve got a face full of makeup, that’s both heavier and a lot less subtle than Regan’s.
Her eyes roam over my well-tailored dark black pants, a creamy cashmere sweater that wraps around my body with a belt of gold silk, my kid leather ankle boots, and my Kate Spade handbag which all look perfectly chic and respectable.
There’s not a hint of the refusal to conform that used to be the calling card of my style. But this is what eight years as a “Stepford Wife” has made me. I don’t remember the last time I left my house with no makeup on.
Suddenly, it feels heavy, when I speak, I can feel it moving in the small lines around my mouth and eyes. I can’t wait to wash it off.
“Kal, thank you for meeting me. You look wonderful.” She leans in to kiss me on the cheek and embraces me.
“Raul, we’re ready to be seated.” She graces the man with a warm smile before tucking her arm through mine and leading us through the restaurant. “Come on. We have a lot to talk about. I booked us a private room for lunch. This is where the boozy bored housewives come to hang out. I only come when I need to go somewhere no one will notice me. I’m one of them now. Minus the boozy part,” she says and I am a little caught off guard by how candid she’s just been with me.
I only called her because I couldn’t reach Remi. We barely know each other. I wasn’t even sure she would know who I was when I called.
When I asked her if she had a good number for Remi, she said, “I have no idea where he is. We haven’t heard from him in months.” Then she burst into tears and my heart stopped.
Remi missing? It sounded… impossible. It was like saying the moon fell out of the sky. When she asked
me to meet her for lunch, I’d come right away.
As soon as Raul shuts the door of our little dark wood-walled dining room, she leans in and grabs my hands.
“I’m sorry I fell apart like that on the phone.” She looks like she might cry again.
“Tell me what happened.” I squeeze her hand reassuringly.
“I don’t know. He’s gone.”
“So, no one knows where he is?”
“Someone knows. His fucking partners at the firm. They said they’re not able to divulge it. His best friend’s wife works for him, and they don’t know where he is either. I was hoping you might.”
“Me?” I lean away, completely taken aback.
She fiddles with the edge of her napkin, and looks away from me.
“Why would you think that?”
“Look, I know you were married and you guys didn’t stay in touch. But, I heard you and Paul split, kind of around the same time he went missing. I thought maybe, the two of you had finally gone for it. He’s never gotten over you.”
I’m stunned. “Really?”
She doesn’t appear to hear me. She’s staring at her napkin and tugging at it like she’s trying to tear it.
