The Other Half (33 page)

“Well, what do you think?” she asked Rob when she was ready, twirling into his room.

Rob looked at her, mystified. He took in the white sheet swathed around her hour-glass form like a toga, exposing not unattractive amounts of curvy flesh. Her dark curls were gathered up like those of a Greek goddess, with a few tendrils framing her face becomingly. Her eyes were emphasized with copious black liner. Her wrists jangled with gold bangles, and on her feet were thong sandals. The final touch, which she was proudly brandishing in front of her, was a large box.

“Totally divine,” he acknowledged. “Though who the devil are you?”

“Open it,” she ordered, thrusting the box into his hands.

He read the carefully handwritten label,
A Gift from Zeus
, and lifted the lid. Startled, he jumped back as half a dozen springs popped up, narrowly missing his face. Yet where one might perhaps have expected there to be a jack-in-the-box, on the end of each spring was a different object: the figure of a little devil, a lipstick, a miniature bottle of tequila, a packet of condoms, and a scaled-down copy of
All Woman
 … He scratched his head. “Evil things…” he muttered. “So you’re wicked … but not Eve…”

“Ye-es?”

“Hmm?”

“… a box…”

“You’re Pandora!”

“Appropriate—don’t you agree—that I should be single-handedly responsible for bringing all the troubles into the world?”

“Ideal for the editor of such a contentious mag.” He nodded.

“Thank you,” said Chloë, as the doorbell rang. “Eek, that’s my taxi!” She snatched back her most crucial accessory.

“Knock ’em dead!” shouted Rob, as she bolted out of the door.

On arriving at the Café de Paris, Chloë helped herself from the silver tray laden with glasses of champagne held by a waiter in the foyer and downed it in one to steady her nerves. Then she moved on to a second waiter for another and pushed open the double doors into the main body of the nightclub.

The first thing she saw, straight ahead of her, was a giant poster of the
All Woman
front cover. Chloë flushed with pride; at what must have been twenty feet high, it took up the entire stage, spanning the lower and upper levels of the club. She moved toward the edge of the balcony, where two symmetrical staircases swept in golden spirals to the main floor below, and looked down.

She’d made sure not to be too early, aware that waiting for guests to arrive would only make her anxious, especially as she was one of the hosts. When she and Rob entertained at home she had no choice in the matter, but here, at a work party where everything was set up already, she didn’t have to sit around biting her nails. The bar area thronged with people. Despite the dim, ultraviolet lighting, from her vantage point Chloë could see many familiar faces. There was Jean, dressed as … yes, Anaïs Nin. How typical of her to choose someone so literary. There was her co-host, Vanessa—or Morticia, rather—she’d barely had to dress up at all. And there, surrounded by three male Marilyns, clearly relishing an invitation to assess their fake cleavages, was Patsy—Holly Golightly to a T. Chloë scanned the rest of the dance floor. There was a very masculine Nell Gwynn, a couple of Madonnas, a chubby Mata Hari, half a dozen Cleopatras—three of each sex—and a riot of other amusingly costumed guests. Yet where, among all these people, was James? Chloë couldn’t see him, so she decided to go down and have a thorough look. No sooner had she reached the bottom of the stairs than she was cornered by Jean.

“Chloë! Long time no see!” She was tipsy already.

“Yes,” said Chloë, feeling at once that she was to blame. Despite working in the same building, she’d not been in to see her old boss in weeks. Although she knew it was advisable to keep on the good side of a woman as influential as Jean, she’d hardly had a moment to spare. Also, since Patsy had warned her of Jean’s mounting suspicions all those months ago, she was concerned that Jean would jump at the chance to delve. James had told her that Jean knew, and was furious with them both. Rather than face her, Chloë had opted for her default response to matters emotional: avoidance. She said none of this, but simply muttered, “I’ve been swept off my feet.”

“So I gather. Whenever I’ve caught sight of you, you’ve been awfully preoccupied.”

Was Chloë being paranoid, or could she detect an underlying jibe? “Well, you know what it’s like, launching a new magazine—never enough hours in the day.”

“Not with a life as full as yours, I imagine.” Now she was in no doubt: this was barbed. Especially as Jean then drained her glass and added, “Love the outfit—how very risqué.” Her eyes were fixed pointedly on Chloë’s exposed bosom, as if to say, And unseemly. Chloë scanned the venue for an excuse to talk to someone else. She had witnessed Jean’s tendency to vent spleen when tipsy before. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Patsy giggling with the three Marilyns. How she longed to join them at the bar! Yet Jean was on a roll. “I wanted to congratulate you on not one but two impressive achievements.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“First the magazine. I must say, it’s marvelous.” Jean swayed slightly, then took hold of Chloë’s arm to steady herself. “Goddamn marvelous. No, I mean that. It’s very different, thought-provoking, great fun. I love it.”

Chloë blushed. “Thank you.”

“You’ve achieved everything you set out to do, and I’d like to congratulate you on a job well done.” Jean clinked Chloë’s glass.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“And the other thing,” here Jean leaned close, dropped her voice, and spoke with thinly veiled sarcasm, “is that I want to congratulate you on breaking up what, until you came along, was one very happy little family.”

Shit
. I knew it, thought Chloë. I just knew it. What on earth am I supposed to say to that? There was no time to answer, however, because Jean hadn’t finished.

“I gather Jamie’s had to move out of the family home—away from Maggie and Nathan. I also understand that you’re still seeing him. Though at least I hear he’s had the sense not to move in with you immediately. Well, I hope that’s what you wanted. Driving a father away from his son, a husband away from his wife. I hope you’re satisfied.”

Still Chloë couldn’t respond. She experienced the same stomach-churning guilt that she’d had on occasion when talking to Rob about James. Only this time her guilt was more pronounced, as it had been when she’d spoken to Sam at Christmas. Her old boss and her brother: their moral judgment was more formidable, less compromising. It weighed on her hard. Her shame was compounded because she had not had the courage to shift the status quo. She’d neither finished the relationship, nor tried to move it along; she’d been paralyzed. I’ve had so much on my mind, she protested inwardly. It’s such a bad time to deal with something so difficult and potentially painful.

“Maggie told you?” she asked, finally.

“Who else but Maggie?”

“Oh.” This was the first time Maggie had been mentioned directly by Jean in this context. It sounded strange, hearing her name, coming from a friend; someone who actually knew this woman, doubtless had heard her side of the story. It made Maggie seem more real, less remote, and exacerbated Chloë’s discomfort. “Jean, I’m not sure this is the right place to talk about this.”

“I’m sure it’s not. But where is? Indeed, there are plenty of people who would consider it quite inappropriate to mention it, but I’m not one of them, I’m afraid. You know me; I have to speak my mind. And I’m not sure if you realize, Chloë—sometimes you can be quite naive—but I’ve done a fair amount of listening to Maggie over the last few months—a lot of picking up the pieces. She’s been to hell and back, you realize.”

“I know,” said Chloë, stifling a desire to scream.
So have I.

“I also don’t know if you’re aware of quite what a woman she is, how remarkable.”

“Hm.” Though surely, thought Chloë desperately, if she was
that
remarkable, James would never have been attracted to anyone else, would he? He wouldn’t have walked out on someone truly right for him?

Then, like a spear plunging directly into Chloë’s heart, it came: “I think Jamie wants her back, you know.”

At once Chloë began to shake. She felt her world with James, her vision of the future crumbling. “Does he?”

“Yes, I do think so.” Jean seemed determined to put Chloë straight. “Maggie tells me that he phones and hints heavily at moving back in all the time.”

“But, but…” Chloë was horribly confused. “He’s the one who walked out! He could just go back—if that’s what he wants?”

A waiter, dapper in his white dinner jacket, was hovering with a tray of freshly filled glasses, oblivious to the shattering dialogue close at hand. Jean reached for another drink and Chloë, keen to take the edge off all these harsh words, followed suit. In the background she thought she caught a glimpse of James, glancing in her direction and rapidly looking away.

“So that’s what Jamie told you, is it? That he walked out on her?”

“Yes.”

Jean sighed. “Sometimes I wonder about him, I really do. He surprises me. Seems to be telling you each a different story. I wouldn’t have put him down as so duplicitous, but I suppose I shouldn’t be amazed at things people say when they’re caught in the middle like that.” She shook her head. “I guess I’ve not heard his side of it, and I probably never will. But if that’s what he told you, it’s not true. Maggie found out about the two of you—otherwise I’m not sure he ever would have told her. When she found out, she made him promise not to see you anymore, and to try to work things through with her, and he didn’t stick to that promise. When she discovered he was
still
seeing you regardless, she told him to leave.”

Chloë’s mind was racing, trying to work it out. I honestly believed James was the one who chose to go, not the other way around, she thought. I understood it was a positive decision, albeit one made in anger. She could hear Rob’s voice:
“This only underlines how unsure James is about what he’s doing. He’ll probably go back to Maggie eventually—if she’ll have him. He’ll never commit to you, didn’t I say?”

Seeing Chloë look so crestfallen, Jean appeared to appreciate there were perhaps slightly extenuating circumstances. “How ironic,” she said, scanning Chloë’s ensemble once again, less critically this time. “Pandora, eh?”

“Oh, you know me…” Chloë faltered, feeling humbled. “Nothing but trouble…”

“Hey.” Jean nudged her. “Look, I realize you’re not really that wicked. You must understand, this hasn’t been easy for me, knowing you both like I do, being so fond of the pair of you. And I’m very fond of Nathan, too. Hell, I’m even fond of Jamie, in many ways … But I worry for you, Chloë, genuinely I do. I wouldn’t want to see you come unstuck in all this. You’ve got such talent, and I know that more than anyone. It’s not just a passing thing, it’s rare. I meant what I said about the magazine. It’s great. You ought to be very proud.” She drew breath. “Anyway, I’ve said my bit. I don’t want to spoil your evening completely, so I’ll shut up now. Off you go, Chloë, scoot. This is a very special night for you. Enjoy it.”

Chloë needed no further encouragement to take her leave. James was deep in conversation with someone she didn’t recognize and, anyway, she certainly couldn’t approach him
now.
She noticed that he hadn’t bothered to dress up. Probably thinks he’s all things to all women simply like that, she bristled. Instead she headed straight for the bar, and Patsy.

“Oops,” said Patsy. “That looked heavy. You okay?”

Chloë exhaled. “Only just.”

“Here. Let me get you a drink.” Patsy drew herself up to her full height in a bid to get her presence noticed behind the counter.

“Margarita,” she ordered. “No salt.”

On top of three glasses of champagne, Chloë knew this probably wasn’t the best idea in the world, but she needed it.

“Thanks.”

A few minutes with Patsy and the three Marilyns and Chloë had put a bit of space between her and the ghastly confrontation. Within an hour she was on a more even keel.

“Ah! Here’s the woman I was after!” exclaimed a familiar voice. It was Vanessa. “Chloë, here’s someone who’s dying to meet you. Adrienne Sugarman, Chloë Appleton.”

Chloë wished her mind was less fuzzy. She recognized the name, though she couldn’t place the woman before her.

“Hi!” enthused Adrienne, shaking her hand with the iron grip customary in confident Americans. “Special projects director. US Publishing.”

Ah yes, of course. Adrienne’s golden touch was well known throughout the whole organization. Aside from the aura of success that surrounded her, with her deep honey-toned skin, wild Afro, and sensational curves, she oozed sensuality. Although she held the equivalent position on the other side of the Atlantic, she was the antithesis of Vanessa physically, certainly, and quite possibly in temperament too.

“Fabulous magazine, Chloë.
Fabulous
.”

“Thank you.” Chloë warmed to Adrienne at once.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”

Vanessa moved off, leaving them together. “Gee, if I’d known, I’d have gotten dressed up like you guys, but I only flew in today and Vanessa invited me along. Anyways, I had to say, I so
love
what you’ve done with the magazine! It’s so refreshing! So challenging! So very … zeitgeist.” Chloë was feeling better and better. “Speaking of new,” continued Adrienne, “I think us guys should get together while I’m over. Just you and me, off the record initially, of course.”

Chloë raised her eyebrows.

“It’s only an idea, but if the magazine does as well here as it looks set to do—and I believe we’ll know pretty fast—have you thought about launching a US edition? I could see it going down
fabulously
well.” Chloë couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but Adrienne left her in no doubt. “What I’m trying to say is, would you ever consider coming to work with me at US Magazines in New York?”

43

Chloë picked up Potato and cuddled him to her. “How would you feel if I went to New York?” she whispered into the furry triangle of his ear. “Would you be okay if I left you here with Rob?” Potato purred. “And what do you think I should do about James, my fat friend? You think I should finish things, don’t you? You never liked him—always on your bloody sofa.” Potato purred some more.