Page 85 of Love and Lies

“I heard Trish Coldwell has been plotting the downfall of the Weston Family Group for a long time. And it’s looking so bleak for them right now, it shouldn’t take much longer. Putting a brave face on tonight isn’t going to help them. If you ask me—”

“Psst,” hissed a girl sitting next to the three of them, nodding discreetly in my direction.

They all looked my way, horrified—clearly they hadn’t realized I could hear them from across the table.

“No, no, carry on,” I said coolly. “It’s fascinating, what you all have to say about my family. I’m still waiting to hear a shred of truth, but who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The blond stammered a little. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know—”

“No shit,” I cut her off, getting up from my seat. “Excuse me.”

I was giving them the perfect opportunity to gossip about me, but I couldn’t stand it a moment longer, sitting there knowing what they thought about Valerie. So I left and made for the restroom, which was empty. I locked myself in a stall to try to get a moment’s peace.

No such luck. Not a minute later two women came in—middle-aged by the sound of their voices—got out their makeup bags and started chatting. Their gossip about some politician’s far-too-young fifth wife made me roll my eyes, and I was about to leave and find somewhere else to hide, but as I reached for the door handle, I heard something that stopped me in my tracks.

“Have you seen the little Weston girl?” asked one of the voices, raw from too many cigarettes. “I really feel for her.”

“Poor thing. Everyone knows it’s down to her to fix it all for them now. She looks like a deer in headlights.”

“No wonder.” The click of a powder compact. “You’d look like that too if you were barely twenty years old and your parents were frantically trying to find you a husband to salvage their reputation.”

“And all because your sister snorted her life away. And she has the son of the most influential woman in the city on her conscience to boot. The Westons really raised a little she-devil with Valerie; it’s a good thing that family’s on their way out now.”

My hands were balled into fists, my teeth clenched. Wasn’t it bad enough that I had to be at this event on Valerie’s anniversary with all these hateful people? Did I really need to listen to this as well?

“Valerie was always a disgrace to society,” the other woman agreed. “Utterly selfish, with no sense of what was important. She simply did whatever she wanted, with no consideration for anyone else or the damage she might do.”

My eyes filled with tears of rage. I knew I should have gone out there and given the two of them a piece of my mind—told them what a wonderful person Valerie had been, and that anyone should consider themselves lucky to have had her as a friend. But I didn’t have the strength. Not after the last few weeks, which had cost me so much energy, and not after today, which had spent it completely. So I stayed silent, closed my eyes, and waited for the women to leave the bathroom.

When the door finally closed behind them, I stepped out of the stall and went over to the mirror, leaning on the wide sink counter and exhaling heavily. My chest was tight thinking about Valerie, and I couldn’t form a single sensible thought, save for one.

You have to get out of here.

I might not have known who I was or wanted to be, but I knew what I didn’t want to be: a part of this circus. So I was going to leave this place, right now. And go where? I had no idea. As long as I got out.

I left the restroom and made for the exit, clutching my bag. The carpet muffled my footsteps as I hurried toward the door as fast as I could. An attendant in uniform held it open, and I practically ran through it, down the steps and out of the building. It was long dark by now, and there was a line of black cars waiting along the sidewalk to take their owners home, but I didn’t stop. I turned to my left, and walked.

We were south of the Flatiron Building—not a dangerous area, but I wouldn’t have cared anyway. I had to walk, had to get rid of what was building up inside me. All the rage, the helplessness, and especially the grief. So I walked, one foot in front of the other, my lungs full of the cool May air, my head and heart full of Valerie. My memories of her, all as vivid as she was. Today, on my tour around the city, I’d tried not to let myself be overcome by sadness—I’d done what she would have wanted: honored her memory in the best way possible. Valerie wouldn’t have wanted me to be in pain over her, I knew that. But I realized now that it wasn’t about what she wanted. It was about what I wanted. And I wanted to damn the whole world to hell for taking her away from me. Because I had no idea what was going to become of me. Because I was supposed to just pander to other people’s expectations. And because I didn’t know if I was ever going to be able to heal the wound she’d left behind.

Now that I no longer had to put on a brave face I expected tears, but not even they came to keep me company as I made my way through the New York night. The city that I’d once loved above all things and wanted to love again, but couldn’t. Because everything reminded me of her.

“I miss you, Val,” I said softly. “What am I going to do without you?” How was I supposed to carry on when I’d lost the most important person in my life?

There was no answer, of course. But I kept walking, past buildings, past people who stared at me in my ballgown as though Cinderella had wandered off the pages of her fairy tale and gotten lost in New York City. I paid no attention, neither to them nor to where I was going, crossing intersections and letting the city drift by without noticing. So I was surprised to find myself, a long while later, on a street that looked familiar. I hadn’t planned on coming here—I was hardly ever in this neighborhood. But that café over there, I knew it. And directly opposite was…

No. It can’t be.

I stopped dead, gazing up at the facade of the old brick building with the fire escape along the side, asking myself if it was coincidence—or more like fate. As I’d walked—no, the whole day, in fact—I’d wished for someone to understand what I was going through. And now, without it being a conscious decision, something had led me here.

I was already heading toward the building when I stopped again. Should I really do it? Go up there and knock on his door?

Yes, for fuck’s sake! my sister seemed to yell at me. But that wasn’t why I kept walking. I’d already decided, of my own accord, that I had to do what felt right for me. I had thought I was completely alone in my grief, that nobody understood how I felt. But that wasn’t true. There was someone who felt exactly the same. And I wanted to see him. I had to see him.

A woman came out of the building, and I took my chance to slip through the door before it closed. Hurrying, I gathered my long dress and ran up the stairs to the top floor. Out of breath, I made for the only door on that floor and raised my hand to knock. The sound echoed through the hall, but that was all. Nothing happened.

Please be in, please be in, damn it.

I pleaded silently, balling my fists in anticipation while I waited. Nothing stirred for what seemed like hours, and I realized I was out of luck. Why should this be any different—on a day like today, why should there be a happy ending?