Unravelled (23 page)

It’s hard to relay the mix of emotions I was experiencing as I sat there: anger, humiliation, grief, and confusion. How could I not have known? Was I really that stupid? And what was I going to do now? Could I really stand up there and read that suggestive verse after my recent revelation? But if I didn’t carry on as normal, Nicola would be disappointed and, quite possibly, suspicious. Oh god! She could never find out!

That’s when I heard it—a voice from the doorway, tentative at first, and then louder. “Beth? Beth?”

I couldn’t believe he’d followed me into the ladies’ room. “Go away!” I called. “My friends will be here any minute to check on me.”

“Please . . . Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Talk?” I was suddenly consumed by rage. Opening the door, I stormed across the marble floor to confront him. “Talk about what, Jim? Or should I say,
James.
Shall we talk about the fact that I’ve just discovered that my boyfriend is the father of the bride? That he’s married to the mother of the bride? That he lied to me about everything?”

Jim looked nervous. “If we could just go somewhere more private, I could explain . . .”

“Explain?” I shrieked, tears streaming unchecked down my face. “How can you explain this to me? You tricked me into believing we had a future together!”

“Beth...” Jim pleaded again, “please come with me. We can’t let them find us here.”

He was right. Nicola would kill me. Nicola’s mom would kill me. They would both want to kill Jim. I couldn’t let them find out. I couldn’t ruin Nicola’s rehearsal dinner, or her wedding, or her life... “Fine,” I said.

I followed Jim out of the ladies’ room and around a corner to the emergency exit. As he pushed open the heavy door, I prayed it wouldn’t set off an alarm. Mercifully, it didn’t, and I followed him into the deserted grey concrete stairwell.

“Oh god,” Jim said, holding a hand to his forehead as if he were in pain, “I had no idea you were Nicola’s friend.”

“I had no idea you were Nicola’s
dad
!” I shrieked. “How could you do this to me? How could you do this to your family?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen, Beth. You’ve got to believe me. But that day when I met you at the interview... I suddenly realized what had been missing in my life.”

“What? A young chickie on the side?” I spat back at him. “You act like you’re so high and mighty and . . .
environmen tally friendly.
But you’re nothing but a dirty old man.”

“It’s not like that, Beth, really, it’s not! Eileen and I have been living separate lives for years. We only stayed together for Nicola and to keep up appearances. I’ve wanted to leave for ages and when I met you . . . well, I knew my marriage was over. You’ve got to understand,” he pleaded, reaching for my hand. I snatched it from his grasp. “I want us to be together, but I had to wait for the right time. I couldn’t ruin Nicola’s wedding.”

“Oh, right. Well, good job. I’m sure the wedding will go off without a hitch once she finds out you’ve been cheating on her mother with a member of her knitting circle.”

“Oh god. Why didn’t you tell me you were in a knitting circle?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a twenty-eight-year-old daughter in a knitting circle?” I screeched.

“I would have told you...
everything,
when the time was right.”

“It’ll never be right now.”

His voice was quiet. “I know.” Jim stared at the floor for a long moment before his eyes rose to meet mine. He suddenly looked far older than the vivacious forty-eight year old I’d been dating. “She can’t find out, Beth. Please . . .”

“Don’t worry,” I growled. “I don’t want her to find out any more than you do.”

“We’d better get back, then. Can we talk about this later? I can come to your apartment?”

“There’s nothing more to say,” I said, stalking past him, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“Beth . . .?”

Our bodies were close together now and I could smell his familiar scent. I wanted to hate him. I
did
hate him—but I suddenly realized it wasn’t going to be so easy to turn off all the feelings I’d had for him. “What?” I croaked, my voice hoarse.

He reached in the breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed me a tissue. “You might want to fix yourself up a bit. You’ve got mascara running down your face.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be
that
hard?

Twenty-nine

AS I CROSSED the lobby toward The Garden Room, a respectable six minutes after Jim, I heard my name. “Beth!” Martin, Sophie, and Angie stood, huddled together, near a seating area adjacent the main entrance. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward them.

“How are you?” Sophie asked, concerned.

“Oh . . . I’m okay.” Somehow, I managed not to burst into tears.

Angie queried, “Where were you? We went to look for you in the ladies’ room but you weren’t there.”

“Uh...I was just around the corner. I needed a moment alone.”

“Were you having a panic attack?” Sophie asked gently.

“Kind of. But I’m okay now.”

“I guess we’d better go back inside then,” Angie suggested. “They’ll be serving dinner soon.”

“Right.” At the thought of facing Jim again, I wobbled a little in my heels.

Martin caught my arm. “I’ve got you,” he said reassuringly.

I let him escort me back into The Garden Room, where cocktail hour was beginning to wind down. My hand clutched his arm as if for dear life. It was no longer the poetry reading that was causing my anxiety. Standing up in front of this crowd reading a verse about the bride and groom having intercourse now seemed so . . . trivial. At least it was compared with the visceral fear I was now experiencing. My boyfriend had been leading a double life and I was suddenly immersed in it. But I couldn’t fall apart. I couldn’t let anyone find out.

“Do you want another drink?” Martin asked me. I shook my head no. Suddenly, my whole body stiffened involuntarily as Nicola approached. “I’ve found my other bridesmaids,” she said, introducing the tall brunette and plump redhead flanking her. With difficulty, I managed to shake hands and make pleasantries. Within moments, Angie and Sophie had engaged Nicola and her attendants in a vigorous conversation about dyeing shoes to match your dress.

Martin whispered to me, “Let’s check out the view.” Obediently, I followed him to one of the massive windows where we stood and stared out at the darkening sky. We were relatively secluded from the rest of the soiree by a robust fig tree. I struggled for a breath as Martin broke the silence. “So . . . I was talking to Nicola’s mom after you left.”

“Oh?” I struggled for nonchalance.

“She mentioned that her husband is a semi-retired architect. He focuses mostly on environmentally friendly projects now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think he’s called a
green architect.
” I said nothing but continued to stare down at the fountain illuminated in the court-yard. Martin forged ahead. “I thought it was quite a coincidence that your boyfriend is also a green architect.”

I shrugged.

“And the names: James . . . Jim . . .”

“Quite a coincidence, all right,” I said, with a nervous laugh.

“What did you say your boyfriend’s last name was again?”

“Uh—Travolta,” I blurted.

“Oh . . .” Martin said, “Jim Travolta . . . Right . . . You know, it’s funny how we feel so close to Nicola, and yet, we never even knew her last name.”

My heart began to beat rapidly. “I guess it just never came up.”

“I know. The wedding planner just handed me one of the programs for the evening. Nicola’s last name is Davidson.”

My eyes met his and pooled with tears. He knew.

Martin explained, “I read the article you wrote about him in
Seattle Scene.
I know his name is Jim Davidson.”

The tears spilled over as I clutched the lapels of his jacket desperately. “I didn’t know until just now. Honestly, I didn’t. God! I would have never...”

“I know,” he said, consolingly. “I believe you.”

“We can’t let Nicola find out,” I begged him. “I can’t ruin everything for her.”

“She won’t find out,” he said, handing me a cocktail napkin. “Here . . . dry your tears.” I did as I was instructed, though my face was becoming raw and I was sure I had no makeup left on at all. “You’ve just got to get through the next few hours.” He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a comforting squeeze. “I’ll help you.”

“Thanks,” I snuffled. “I guess we’d better get back to the others. I don’t want them to get suspicious.”

“You’re right. Okay... Put a smile on that beautiful face,” he cajoled me. “You can do this.”

But when we approached the other members of the stitch ’n bitch club, Nicola’s mother had joined them. I hated myself as I stood there, smiling congenially as I listened to them discuss Saturday’s impending wedding. “I’m sure it’s going to be the wedding of the year,” Angie was saying.

“Well . . . it’s certainly a social event of note,” Eileen Davidson replied. “
Town & Country
magazine will be photographing Nicola and Neil.”

Angie and Sophie gasped, obviously impressed. I forced a congratulatory eyebrow raise.

Nicola jumped in. “We’re hoping for a full page!” she said, holding up two sets of crossed fingers.

“That would be incredible!” Angie gushed.

“After all we’ve gone through with our photographer, I think we deserve it,” Eileen said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Did Nicola tell you about that catastrophe?”

“Oh, yes,” Sophie clucked sympathetically.

“Thank goodness for Daddy and his connections,” Nicola said, “or it could have been a real disaster.”

Nicola’s mother smiled. “Benjamin Leone is a well-known photographer of interiors and exteriors. My husband met him years ago through his architectural practice. I’m sure Benjamin will be able to give the wedding photographs a unique perspective.”

Sophie slid her arm through mine. “Beth’s boyfriend is an architect, too,” she said, smiling at me.

No, Sophie! I silently willed her. Please don’t try to include me in this conversation. Please just let me stand here sullenly.

But she continued to address Eileen. “Maybe your husband would know him?”

“I doubt it,” she replied with a gentle shake of her blonde coif. “He’s semi-retired now. He picks and chooses his projects. His real passion is environmentally sustainable architecture.”

Martin, sensing danger, tried for a diversion. “I suppose we’d better find our table. We’ll be eating soon.”

But Sophie was undeterred. “That’s such a coincidence!” she cried. “Jim is into environmentally sustainable architecture, too, right? What’s it called again?”

Angie answered for me. “Green architecture.”

“Well, maybe James does know him,” Eileen said. “I’m sure he’s quite an inspiration to the younger architects in the field. He’s something of a pioneer.”

It had to stop. We were only a handful of words away from discovering that we were talking about the same person. I needed to say something distracting, like, “Fire!” or “Terrorist attack!” But I couldn’t. My throat felt closed and my body paralyzed with fear. Why the hell wasn’t Martin yelling “Fire!” or “Terrorist attack!”

Angie chuckled, “Well, Beth’s boyfriend isn’t actually that much younger than—” She stopped, and her eyes met mine. Oh fuck.

“I’m famished,” Martin said, taking my arm. “Shall we?”

“Yes, let’s eat!” Angie said, exuberantly.

I started to shuffle away, blindly following Martin’s lead, but something made me hesitate. Before I even had the courage to look, I could feel her gaze. It was almost like I could sense her shock, her betrayal, her pain... Slowly, my eyes travelled to Nicola’s face. “Nic . . .” I said in a voice hoarse with emotion. But she turned away from me, and in a rush of crinkling taffeta, hurried toward the exit.

“Where is she going?” Eileen asked, confused. “Nicola! We’re about to eat!”

I became aware of Jim across the room, ensconced in a group of dark-suited men. Alerted to his daughter’s hasty departure, he hurriedly made his way through the crowd toward the door. When he was almost there, his eyes found mine, and my own terror reflected back at me.

At that moment, a waiter approached. “Mrs. Davidson,” he said formally, “we are instructing guests to take their seats. We’ll be serving the first course shortly.”

But Eileen’s gaze was on her husband’s form, hurriedly exiting The Garden Room. “What’s going on here?” she asked no one in particular, marching off to follow her family.

Angie turned to me. “How could you?” she whispered angrily.

“I didn’t know!” I cried, tears stinging my eyes. “You have to believe me, Ange. I just found out tonight.”

“She did.” Martin came to my defence.

“What’s going on?” Sophie demanded.

Angie explained. “Beth’s boyfriend, Jim Davidson... the older green architect...” she trailed off.

“Oh my god!” Sophie gasped.

“I know! It’s horrible!” My tears spilled over. “I—I don’t know what to do.”

Sophie turned on me. “How could you ruin Nicola’s wedding? You know how important it is to her.”

“It—it . . . it was a mistake,” I stammered, “a horrible mistake.”

Martin took charge. “I think we should get out of here.”

“Why?” Angie remarked. “
We’ve
done nothing wrong.”

“Fine,” he said to her. “You stay. I’m going to take Beth home.”

“Oh, all right,” she acquiesced.

“I’m not staying here alone!” Sophie cried. “I’ll come, too.”

Hurriedly, we moved through the jovial crowd, oblivious to the drama unfolding around them, and out to the lobby. I prayed that Nicola and her parents had taken their discussion to a private area. Surely Jim would have enough sense to hide his dirty laundry away from the other guests. But no sooner had we stepped into the open space than we heard her voice travelling from the middle of the lobby.

“You liar!” Nicola wailed, her fists flailing weakly at her father’s chest. “I hate you!”

“Stop!” Jim said, desperately trying to grab her arms. “Just calm down, sweetheart. It’s not what you think.”

“Will someone please tell me what is going on here?” Eileen pleaded, her voice shrill with dread.

“Shit,” Martin muttered.

“We can get out through the restaurant,” Angie whispered, indicating the upscale eatery to our left. I turned and prepared to scurry away from the Davidson family carnage, when Nicola caught sight of me.

“You!” she cried, and the hatred in her voice left little doubt that her “you” meant me. Slowly I turned to face her. “How could you do this to me?” she hissed, venomously.

“I—I—didn’t know...” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly, Neil appeared, followed by a group of men in suits (obviously his groomsmen) and the five bridesmaids we’d met earlier. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded. “Nicola... what’s wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong!” Nicola screeched, tears streaming down her face. Her words were barely intelligible as hysteria distorted her voice. She pointed an accusing finger at Jim. “He—he ruined everything! And
she
...” The finger of blame was now pointed at me. “She—she—”

Eileen, having finally put two and two together, chose that exact moment to faint. I had always thought that when people fainted, they crumpled, rather attractively, to the floor, à la Scarlet O’Hara. Not so in Eileen’s case. Her body stayed completely rigid and she tipped backward like an upended vase. One of the bridesmaids gave a terrified scream, which set off the others. Soon, the whole group had dissolved into chaos.

“Call 9-1-1!” a bridesmaid kept screaming. “Call 9-1-1!”

“I’m a doctor, goddammit!” Neil and at least two of his attendants cried. They hurried to crouch over Eileen’s comatose form.

“She’s not dead!” another bridesmaid wailed. “She can’t be dead.”

“It’s okay,” a male voice attempted to soothe them, “she just fainted.”

“But she hit her head on the floor!” someone shrieked. “I heard it crack!”

“How could it crack?” another replied. “The floor’s carpeted.”

“You’ve killed her!” Nicola screamed at her father. “You’ve killed my mother at my rehearsal dinner! I hate you! I hate you!”

A crowd of guests had emerged from The Garden Room and were now surrounding the maelstrom, as were a number of hotel staff. I felt the urge to help, to at least offer my wrap to keep poor Eileen warm. But obviously, my good intentions would not be welcome. “Let’s go,” Martin said, commandingly, and pushed me through the restaurant and out into the night.

No one said anything until we were safely inside a cab zooming back to Queen Anne. Sophie spoke first. “Poor Nicola. This is just so awful.”

“It is,” I sniffled, digging in my purse for a tissue.

“I just don’t understand how you couldn’t have known, Beth,” she continued. “I mean, weren’t there signs?”

“I—I don’t know,” I stammered. “I just thought he worked a lot, and he told me he lived on Bainbridge Island.”

Angie sighed. “I remember Nicola saying that her parents had a summer place there.”

“Oh god,” I moaned. “That must be where he took me.” A sudden jolt of remembrance struck me: Jim and I rolling around passionately in the feminine apricot guest room. It was probably Nicola’s bedroom! I had almost had sex with her dad in her own summer bedroom! She would hate me forever!

“Look,” Martin said from his position in the front seat, “I’m sure if we dissected the past few months we’d find all sorts of clues, but what’s the point? Right now we have to focus on helping our friends get through this.”