AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Hmmm.”
They clatter again, one of them laughing, as I hear hairspray being sprayed around. “That dress looks lovely by the way, where from? Saks?”
“Yes. We should go shopping next week. It’s been ages since I saw you last.”
The sound of the main door finally closing makes me sag, my black heels slumping back to the floor. I stare at the patterned decoration of the door, fingers not knowing whether to unlock this cubicle and leave or stay in here until it’s all done and over. An affair? I can’t process that. Why would he? My head shakes, trying to find sense in the senseless. No. I don’t believe it.
Dead.
I eventually choose the small bottle of gin in my bag rather than deal with anything. The liquid slides down my throat just as easily as it has done for however long it’s been. It doesn’t even burn now. It glides in as if it fuels my next waking breath, helping me absorb the facts. Alone. No husband. No career. I’m stuck here in New York where I know no one and nothing, and we don’t even own a home for me to go back to.
An affair?
After a while the bottle’s empty and the need for more consumes me. I stand and brush my dress into shape, wobbling slightly on my heels. I’ll go out there and find more alcohol, or maybe I’ll go and find Deborah Collier and find out if she was sleeping with my husband. I sway and unlock the door, shakily making my way to the mirror. Make up’s still perfect. I pat my swept up blonde hair into shape again, not that it’s moved, and wonder why my mascara’s not smeared across my face. Other widows cry, I’m sure. They must fall to bits and cry buckets of tears until they shrivel and come out the other end. Not me, though.
I’m not even sure if I’m mourning other than wondering what the hell comes next. The opera was the only time I felt sorrowful. He was with me there then, sitting beside me and laughing. My mind filters back to the time there, the sound of the voices and the music. Beautiful. And then I was shaking on the stairs like an unfortunate, hiding myself as Grayson Rothburg and his security came passed me like a storm in my torment. No more tears since then. Nothing but a haze of emptiness and indecision and alcohol. I’m in shock. Must be.
I lift my lipstick, hovering it over the already perfect outline of my lips. Maybe I didn’t love him. Maybe that’s what’s going on. Or I’m heartless. I don’t … I don’t know what to do, where to go. I’m just here listening to other people who say he was fucking someone else.
“Oh gosh, there you are, Hannah.” I look sideways as Gemma Morris hurries into the room, a sometimes friend who’s flown over from Vancouver with her husband Graham. “I was beginning to wonder where you were and if you were alright.”
“Fine, Gemma,” I say, putting the lipstick away. “Just touching up and listening to people who think Rick was having an affair. What do you think?”
She visibly falters, her feet inching away from me. “Why in the world would you think that’s true? He loved you, Hannah.”
“Still, all those business trips. Must get lonely for a man,” I imply, walking passed her towards the exit. “Do you know who Deborah is?” She doesn’t answer, but she does follow me out and round in front of me before I get to the hordes of people.
“Hannah Tanner. Stop it. Rick adored you,” she says, reaching for my arm.
“Hmm.”
I walk onwards, shrugging my arm from her grip and veering away into the depths of the people. They’re everywhere, but at this moment I can barely see them. I’m searching. I know his type well enough. It’s nothing like me either. It’s dark and sultry, slutty. We used to laugh about it. I don’t know how we even got into discussing it, but we did one night over drinks. One night away from each other, a free pass, who would we choose – what would they look like?
Mine looked dark and dangerous, olive skin, a smile that made me feel scared. His was the same. Nothing like either of us. If there’s one thing Hannah and Rick never were, it was dark and deadly. We were light and breezy, happy and carefree in our pristine clothes and perfect lives. I’m not sure I am anymore, certainly not after these thoughts now circulating my mind.
An affair.
I look across to the bar, scanning for a single female in the crowd. There’s a few. A blonde first. No, too like me. Pretty. Coy looking. And then a dark haired women, mid fifties – no. A dress off to the right catches my eye, long tan legs underneath it. That’s more like it, until I see a man come stand beside her and they kiss. Wedding rings. I shake my head and keep moving through the crowd, rubbing my own wedding band and on a mission now to find whoever this damn woman is.
A low, sultry laugh rings out to the side of me somewhere. I turn instantly, following the sound. It’s her, I know it is. It keeps going, leading me to the person it belongs to, and eventually I find her in the middle of a group of guys. Beautiful. Mixed race maybe. Bright red lips and not a damn thing subtle about her. She’s even tried for sexy at a funeral. My husband’s.
“Deborah,” I say, loudly. She looks straight at me, eyes blinking and then looking away. “How long were you fucking him?” The group around her goes quiet, some of them making room for me to keep moving forward.
A hand lands on my arm, a woman trying to pull me back. I shirk her off and keep going, intent on making some sense of her being here. “I don’t get it. Why would you come here?” I snap. “He was my husband. You didn’t even have the decency to think turning up here was a little out of the fucking necessary?”
She flusters and tries to step backwards. Thankfully, another woman I don’t know blocks her path, a sneer on her face. “Hannah, perhaps this isn’t the right time to …”
“NOT THE RIGHT FUKING TIME!” bellows out of me. She thinks this isn’t the right time? “I think it’s exactly the right time, Deborah. Let’s discuss fucking anatomy, shall we?” I move quicker, swinging my hand back ready to launch an attack. A hand catches my wrist, stopping me from actually doing what I want to. I try shirking it off again, barging around to push the person off, but I’m confronted with Gemma’s husband.
“Hannah, have some respect.”
“RESPECT?” I laugh and fall back from him, my feet tumbling over themselves. Respect died the second I saw her face. I right my feet, pulling some semblance of myself back together. “HE WAS FUCKING HER, GRAHAM!”
“This isn’t the time or place to talk about anything of the sort.”
My mouth opens, ready to launch a verbal attack on him if nothing else, and then utter rage takes over. I turn and propel myself back at her instead, nails ready and my hands grabbing at anything I can get to. She goes straight to the floor, her own hands trying to defend herself as I keep reigning down slaps and hits. “BITCH!” I scream, still hitting and now yanking at her dark brown hair. Anything. I don’t care. This is the first real feeling I’ve had since he went, the only thing that makes any sense at the moment.
Hands suddenly manhandle me, dragging me away from her and through the crowd. I struggle and bitch the entire time, desperate to escape the strong grip around me, but it won’t let go. I can’t even see anything as I’m hauled. I’m fogged over with rage and a mist I’ve never felt before, all of my weight still struggling to get back to that bitch.
