Your Perfect Life (23 page)

As I approach Casey and John, I notice Casey has her hand on John’s knee and I flinch. Is Casey playing the part or is there a real attraction?

“Aunt Casey! I saved you a seat!” Audrey beams and stands up so I can sit next to her. Rachel looks up and quickly pulls her hand off John’s leg.

“Hey, little C.” John smiles and stands to give me a hug. I breathe in the smell of a cologne I don’t recognize (a gift from Casey?). I pull away, scanning his face for recognition. Don’t you realize
I’m
your wife? Shouldn’t you know that something’s off ? That the woman next to you—the one who just had her hand planted firmly on your thigh—isn’t the one you’ve loved for over twenty years?

Casey’s eyes meet mine and without speaking a word, I know she’s asking me if I’m okay after seeing her hand.
Um, yeah, I saw it, bitch. And you’d better be acting!
I nod and bite back the tears burning in my throat as Audrey excitedly recounts every detail of the shopping trip for her formal dress. The trip I missed because I chose to stay with Charlie in Santa Barbara. But watching Casey now reminds me that I’ve also
been playing a part. Did I really have to miss it because I was working? Or was I using that as an excuse?

• • •

My heart ached when I got the picture of Audrey in the floor-length gown. I’d been out to dinner with Charlie. I couldn’t stop staring at the screen on my phone for so long that Charlie finally asked me to show him what was so important.

“Is that your best friend’s daughter? She’s going to break some hearts in that dress.” Charlie grabbed my phone from me to take a closer look and I’d forced a smile, but all I could think about was John’s reaction to Audrey looking so grown up. He was going to hate that dress and would no doubt be mad at me that I’d bought it for her. I pulled the phone back from Charlie and analyzed Audrey from head to toe, taking in her confident posture, her self-assured smile, her sparkling eyes, wondering not just if I was making a huge mistake by not being there but trying to recall a time I’d seen her looking that way. Was that Casey’s influence? Not wanting to consider the answer, I’d turned off the phone and wondered why I didn’t go. Why I’d lied about needing extra footage of Melissa McCarthy so I could stay here with Charlie instead.

We were out to dinner at “our place,” which turned out to be a quaint Italian restaurant tucked away in a corner off State Street in downtown Santa Barbara. It was packed full of wood picnic-style tables draped with red-and-white–checkered cloths, with carafes of house wine and baskets of warm bread that we drowned in a sweet olive oil. Charlie teased me about my
love-hate relationship with carbohydrates (apparently Casey had once called them the Antichrist) and I poked fun at his love-hate relationship with Dean. The waiter began to refill our glasses without asking, and the flirting continued. And I’d hoped Charlie wouldn’t put me on the spot about his relationship with Casey, that he’d just enjoy the night. But I wasn’t so lucky.

“So, I’ve got a couple of glasses of wine in you and that’s all it used to take. What did you used to call it—your truth serum?” Charlie smiled.

I’d nodded yes. That’s what Casey had called alcohol for as long as I could remember. But even before we shared our first drink, Casey was like an open book. It wasn’t long after we’d met in that English class that she’d told me her entire life story, down to her mom’s odd obsession with creepy porcelain dolls and the inappropriate crush she harbored for her second cousin, Shane. I’d been in awe, wishing I could be so open, having always been much more guarded with my feelings. Hoping all those years later in that Italian restaurant with Charlie that I wouldn’t let my guard down then either, that he wouldn’t see right through me.

“So I’m just going to cut right to it. What’s going on? Why are you spending time with me after everything that happened? After you said it was over—all of it—even our friendship. And please, Casey, I’m begging you not to try to dodge this. I think at this point, I deserve some honesty.” He was looking at me in such a way that I expected him to add, “admit that it’s not really you inside that body.”

As I stared at him, searching for the right words, but knowing any I chose would be wrong because they’d be lies, I tried my best to tell as much of the truth as I could.

“I think you’re one of the best men I’ve ever met. You’re
kind. You’re smart. You’re talented. You treat me with such respect and . . .” I trailed off, not knowing if I should add the word on the tip of my tongue.

“Love.” Charlie supplied the word for me and I’d been unable to say anything else. I’d held the gaze of his brown eyes, looking lighter, almost hazel in the candlelight. “I still do, you know.” Charlie broke our silence.

“Even after what I did?” I asked slowly, wondering if he’d supply the story, if I’d finally find out what happened between them. I’d felt like such an imposter in that moment, trying to get intimate details from him that, for whatever reason, Casey had never shared with me.

“It wasn’t just you, I know that now. It was me too. I pushed you too hard, came on too strong. It wasn’t something you wanted, I knew that, but I wouldn’t relent. Of course you freaked out on me.”

What didn’t Casey want? What would have made her freak out?

And then maybe it was something I saw in Charlie’s eyes, maybe it was simply knowing Casey for so many years, but something just clicked and I knew what had happened. And moments later, Charlie confirmed my suspicions.

Still in a daze, when we were leaving the restaurant, all I wanted to do was sleep. Charlie slung his arm around my waist and I’d laid my head on his shoulder, absorbing his warmth, the cool air slicing through my light sweater. While we waited for the valet to get our car, two men appeared, one with a Beta Camera on his shoulder and the other who was shoving a microphone in my face. The man with the mic announced triumphantly that he was from TMZ and wanted to know when we were going public with our “engagement.” He’d nodded toward
the ring on my left hand. I’d glanced down at the costume ring and laughed. “This isn’t an engagement ring.”

“You two seem pretty cozy, but also like you’re trying to hide something, going out to dinner off the beaten path. What’s the truth?”

“The truth is you need to go to hell. Turn that thing off.” Charlie shoved the cameraman, who stumbled backward.

“Jackpot,” the guy with the mic said with a laugh. “Thanks for giving us our lead story for tomorrow night.”

“Get out of here, you punk,” Charlie yelled after him.

I’d prayed that they’d find a bigger story by the next night, but of course they didn’t. The footage ran on the TMZ show, on their Web site, and was even picked up by our competitor,
Access L.A
. I’d hoped Casey hadn’t seen it.

My BlackBerry buzzes, jolting me back to the auditorium, back to where I should be. I fight the urge to check my email, knowing it’s the script for tomorrow’s interview with Jennifer Lopez and her take on balancing single motherhood and life in the spotlight.

Tears well up in my eyes as I watch Sophie shine on stage, trying not to notice that John grabs Casey’s hand during Sophie’s solo, his face perplexed when Casey pulls away quickly and glances in my direction with an apologetic look. I finally try to stare straight ahead, ignoring the movement out of the corner of my eye, instead focusing on Sophie’s standout performance.

Exactly ninety minutes later, the crowd is on its feet and Sophie and the cast come out for an encore bow. She’s smiling from ear to ear and I look over at John to share a moment of pride for our daughter’s victory. But he’s not looking my way, he’s beaming at Casey, who’s grinning back at him with tears in her eyes. My BlackBerry buzzes again and I finally give in and
grab it, tired of feeling like a third wheel in my own life. I scroll down the list of emails and scan the subject lines, finding one from each executive “checking in” about New York City and five from Destiny. I start to open the one that says “Dean Rumor” when I hear Sophie’s voice. She has one arm wrapped around John, the other around Casey. I watch them and wish I knew why I’d never tried harder to be more affectionate with my girls. Am I to blame for their bad attitudes toward me? Sophie spots me and breaks away from John and Casey. I watch Casey’s face fall and my stomach turns in recognition.

“Aunt Casey, you came!” She hugs me tightly and I cling to her, not wanting to let go. Trying not to think about the fact that she thinks I’m her aunt, not her mother.

“How was I? Tell me everything.” Sophie looks up at me with wide eyes, waiting for my expert opinion.

I try not to focus on what Aunt Casey would say because if I say anything as her mom, I won’t be able to hold back my tears. “You’re a star, honey. You’re a star!” The tears come anyway.

CHAPTER 29

casey

The clock ticks past 2 p.m. and I glance at my phone again. As if on cue, it buzzes and I reach down and anxiously read Rachel’s text.
Sorry! I’ll be there in ten minutes!
I sigh deeply.

“What is it, Mom?” Audrey calls over from the chair she’s sitting in before Jose, her stylist, snorts his disapproval and firmly moves her head back into place.

“Just like this,” he says in his thick, accented English to her for the third time in the last twenty minutes, an accent I happen to know is not quite as thick after a few mojitos. He locks eyes with his assistant and rolls them as if to say,
amateurs.
“Jose cannot get your hair perfecto if you’re shaking your head around like you’re in some sort of Whitesnake video.” The assistant chuckles.

“Calm down, Jose,” I say and get a sharp look in return, forgetting that Rachel, suburban stay-at-home mom, can’t say the things to him that Casey, important celebrity client and longtime friend, can. He shakes his head at my gall and continues
to work Audrey’s long, dark hair into a sweeping updo fit for an A-list celebrity.

“I thought you said Casey was coming?” Jose asks pointedly, as if we didn’t belong in his salon without her.

“She’ll be here,” I say simply, a little taken aback by the way Jose’s been acting. I’d come here for years and was always treated like a long-lost friend, met at the door with a flute of Veuve Clicquot and chocolate-covered strawberries. Swept through the waiting area to an available chair and the latest issue of
Entertainment Weekly
. Jose fawning over whatever I was wearing or what celebrity I had profiled on the show the night before. Sometimes we’d even go for drinks afterward at his favorite gay bar, him parading me around to all his friends. Me, dancing the night away with a bunch of incredibly handsome men with six-pack abs. I’d loved every minute of it.

But now, standing here as Rachel, things look a lot different. We waited stiffly for over a half hour in a tiny room in uncomfortable black modern chairs without as much as a tattered copy of
InTouch
to glance at. Not that Audrey noticed or cared; she was so excited about the winter formal tonight that nothing could bring her down. Finally, a sour-faced assistant escorted us over to Jose, who looked us up and down and shook his head slightly before pulling Audrey’s hair out of a ponytail while rapidly speaking Spanish to his assistant. “Sit,” he ordered before disappearing for another ten minutes, finally returning as if he were doing us a favor by coming back at all. I sat in disbelief at the way he would treat my best friend when I wasn’t around and mentally planned the scathing email I’d write to him once I was back in my own body.

Finally, I hear Casey before I see her. She’s led in like royalty, Jose practically shedding tears of joy upon her arrival.
Champagne suddenly appears on a gleaming silver tray and Jose painstakingly explains exactly what he has in mind for Audrey’s hair, even though when I’d asked him the same question earlier he’d waved me off and instructed me to sit down and let him “make the magic.”

“Hi, all,” Rachel says, giving Audrey a tight hug before sitting down next to me. She adjusts her skirt, one of my favorites, a pencil skirt with soft gray pinstripes, and fidgets in her seat as she tries to get comfortable.

“What?” she asks, catching me watching her. Her hand flies up before I can answer. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking, I’m sorry.” She inches closer to me. “I’ve gained five pounds.”

“Where?” I scrutinize my thin frame, not able to detect exactly where the extra weight is. Maybe in my face? Maybe it does look a little fuller?

“This skirt is a little tight,” she says and frowns, running her hand over her stomach.

“I think you look great. I needed some meat on my bones; I know that I was too skinny.” I thought about this that morning as I put on Rachel’s jeans and studied her figure in the mirror. She has hips. She has soft curves in all the right places. She’s feminine. The way I wish I was allowed to look. But I can’t have both a career and a healthy body.

“Sorry I was late,” Rachel says, changing the subject.

I nod toward the firm grip she has on her BlackBerry.

“Work?” I ask.

“Something like that,” she says vaguely, as if I wouldn’t understand. Is that how I used to talk to her? Like my job at
GossipTV
was so complicated that she wouldn’t understand even the slightest detail? I think back to how I would grasp my cell phone tightly at all times, one time choosing to drop an entire
plate of food when I slipped at a party rather than unclasp my grip on what I thought was my lifeline to the rest of the world. The old me would probably die if she knew that my phone lay buried in the bottom of my purse on silent most days now, the people needing my attention most always right in front of me.

Rachel had been vague with me about everything in her life (my life!) since returning from Santa Barbara. I had tried several times to get more information out of her about that trip, both dreading and dying to know what really happened. When I asked where they had dinner, I fought back tears as she told me they went to
our spot
. Rachel seemed to sense that information would hurt and quickly changed the subject to John’s upcoming surprise party. I didn’t press and assured her that we were all set, the RSVPs were trickling in and aside from a few minor details I was pretty much done planning. I knew she was trying to spare my feelings by not gushing about her time with Charlie, but it still felt like she was hiding something. I prayed she hadn’t figured out what had really happened between us, although I can’t imagine how it wouldn’t have come up at dinner. I didn’t want her pity. Or her disapproval for not coming to her in the first place, although I think she’d be able to understand why. And why, now, I realized how incredibly wrong I had been.