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“Did you just call me Jane?” She appeared to suppress a building spill of giggles and pressed her face into her pillow. “Mom only calls me Jane when she’s mad at something…like the time I used magic markers as lipstick…or the time I tried to flush my dirty sneakers down the toilet…or the time I—”
“I get the idea.”
A tap on the stair treads caught his attention and he turned. He stared, rapt, unmoving, his heart’s rhythm quickening into an escalated patter. Jenna was floating from one riser down to the next. She lifted her gown’s hem, and her shoes sparkled like fairytale glass slippers. He tried to draw his eyes away, but it was as if his head was pinioned in place.
Her gown was a pale gold spill of silk with a draped neckline. A pattern of crystal beads sewn like twining vines made her shimmer as she stepped. Her hair was set in waves, one side tucked behind her ear, the other glancing her face, throat, and bare shoulder. Eric followed her journey till she reached the bottom of the stairs, and even then, he found tearing his eyes away an unattainable labor.
“Eric!” Janie shouted and snapped him out of his trance. “I’m ready to go.”
He swallowed hard, still staring at Jenna. “Have fun tonight.” After grabbing his daughter’s pillow, he opened the door and stomped past the waiting limousine. Janie turned toward her mother and smiled.
****
In the morning, Jenna awoke mildly nauseous, her eyes heavy and her breasts throbbing. She was exhausted but more sad than tired. Eric’s words“have fun tonight”stayed with her the whole evening. He didn’t care about her having a date.
The event at the Frick had been a gathering of New York City’s beau monde and had something to do with libraries, or museums, or Discovery Times Square. As she attempted to mingle, “have fun tonight,” was all she heard.
She tried being gracious as Meghan trawled her from one end of the museum to the other. Jenna tried being sociable, approachable, and even attentive to her date, Brett Masters, the twenty-six-year-old, gorgeous and strapping baseball star who’d come to the Frick straight from Citi Field where he’d hit two home runs. He was engaging and charming, but “have fun tonight” was all she’d heard.
After brushing her teeth, she gave a cursory swipe with a cloth to the mascara smeared under her eyes. She’d been too tired when she’d gotten home at one a.m. to wash her face. A light tap sounded at the side door.
She glanced at the clock. It was barely eight. “What the hell?”
“Coming,” she yelled as she pattered down the stairs. Through a window she could see Eric leaning against the railing. She opened the door. “Is Janie okay?”
“Fine.” Without invitation he stepped inside. “Areyouokay? You look a little beat.”
“Oh, it was a late night, and I’m just out of practice.” Jenna reached far and wide for light and airy but her eyes felt unevenly squinty. “Um, why are you here so early?”
“We’re doing some gardening today, and our daughter needs crappier clothes. I don’t want her to ruin what you packed.”
“Oh.”
Jenna and Eric stood, staring and waiting for the other to move, or speak, or just break from the gaze that had taken hold. “I’ll run up and get her overalls and an old T-shirt,” she eventually said.
Upstairs, she changed into shorts and a tank top. Back down in the kitchen, she handed him a bundle of clothes and a pair of tatty sneakers. “Here you go.”
“I made some coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, not at all, but I’ve switched to tea.”
Jenna filled the kettle and dropped a decaf bag into a cup as Eric made himself comfortable at her table. Though he braced his hands around his mug, he never took a sip. He stared as if sizing her up to form an opinion. “Did you have fun last night?”
“It was okay. A lot of names. It felt strange being back in that world.”
“I know the feeling. I don’t much care for it.”
Jenna fought the urge to roll her eyes, or cluck her tongue, or make any gestures that showed displeasure. While she didn’t miss the cultlike idolatry of her short-lived celebrity, it chafed that Eric lived in its exclusive circle. “I’m sure you’ve been to enough red-carpet events over the years to be used to them.”
He finally took a sip of his coffee, placed the cup down, and folded his arms in a tight press of “leave me alone” body language. “I’musedto tolerating them.”
“Mmm.” Her attention flitted away, and she stared past him. She would always view Hollywood as a litter filled alleyway. Adultery, addiction, suicide, and sexual depravity lived behind every door. There was almost no one in the business of make believe who hadn’t paid the price of fame.
“At some point, tolerating attention doesn’t cut it,” she said.
Eric’s eyes narrowed into two blue slashes. “Yet you went to a celebrity studded event last night. You’re on Page Six.”
Acid churned in a sudden and uneasy circle in her stomach. “I had no idea.”
