Page 28 of Things We Do in the Dark
“No,” Paris says, unable to conceal her shock. “Of course not.”
“He was clean for seven years.” Elsie’s voice hitches. “I told Zoe months ago that the Quan deal might be too much pressure for him. She insisted he was fine.”
“He did seem fine,” Paris says. “But Elsie—” She hesitates.
“Spit it out. This is not the time to withhold anything from me.”
“There was something going on with Jimmy’s memory,” Paris says. “He was starting to… forget things. Not all the time. But every so often, he’d forget something completely random.”
Elsie stares at her through the bars. “Example?”
“I once caught him staring at an orange for a whole minute. Anorange. When I asked him what he was doing, he asked me what the name of the fruit was. Then he tried to laugh it off, saying he was just kidding around. When something similar happened a couple of weeks later, I said I was concerned. He got really angry and said he couldn’t believe he married someone who couldn’t take a joke. It was the first time he ever spoke to me that way.”
She was understating it. Jimmy hadn’t just been angry, he’d been enraged. And mean.Are you fucking kidding me right now? How can you be my fucking wife and not get that it’s a joke? Either you’re stupid, or you have zero sense of humor. I can’t decide which is worse.
“That wasn’t anger, that was fear.” Elsie sags against the bars. “He watched his mother waste away from Alzheimer’s, not long afterThe Prince of Poughkeepsieended. I don’t know if you’ve known anyone with the disease, but the end stage is absolutely brutal. Jimmy was there every day during her final year. He always said his biggest nightmare was that the same thing would happen to him.” She gives Paris a look. “Why didn’t you take him to the doctor?”
“He wouldn’t go,” Paris says. “I made two appointments for him, and he canceled both without telling me. He finally promised to go once the second show was recorded, but when I reminded him, he brushed it off, saying he was too busy doing press. He told me I was turning into a nag and to get off his back. He got angry every time I brought it up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s clear from Elsie’s controlled tone that she’s furious. “He would have listened to me. I could have made him go.”
Paris meets her gaze. “That’s why he told me not to tell you. He was my husband, Elsie. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to watch out for him, is what,” Elsie snaps. “That’s the deal you make when you marry a man three decades older than you. You’re supposed to give a shit that he’s getting sick, and you’re supposed tonotice that he’s using drugs again. For fuck’s sake, Paris. How self-absorbed are you that you missed these things?”
Paris’s face is hot. There’s nothing she can say to this, because Elsie is right. Shehasbeen completely focused on herself the past few months, trying to figure out how to keep her own life from imploding. She wasn’t paying attention to Jimmy’s health. In fairness, neither was Zoe, but Zoe wasn’t his wife.
“Your arraignment is tomorrow at ten,” Elsie says. “That’s when the prosecution has to show the judge they have probable cause to charge you. I’ll give you a heads-up now—you will probably be charged. But so far everything they have is circumstantial, so it doesn’t necessarily mean we’re going to trial. And trust me, with all the publicity, they can’t afford to get it wrong.”
“How bad is it? The publicity?”
“Considering you’re all over the news, I’d say it’s pretty bad. One of the junior associates texted me a picture from Instagram. It’s a side-by-side of you and one of the Kardashians wearing the same furry slippers. You look guiltyandrich, and that’s a bad combination.”
“It’s not fur, it’s feathers,” Paris says, pointlessly.
“Eat your sandwich,” Elsie says. “I’ll be back in the morning. Remember, no talking. Especially not to Dumb and Dumber over there. Try to get some rest.”
Paris isn’t hungry, and she can’t imagine how she’ll fall asleep in here. Her cellmates are once again trading stories about their mutual ex-boyfriend, Dexter, who apparently smoked too much weed, cheated on them both, stole one woman’s money, and crashed the other woman’s car. What a prize.
She’d never had to worry about any of those things with Jimmy. He wasn’t a taker; he gave. The day after they agreed to get married, they had a brutally honest conversation about money. Jimmy didn’t want any surprises. He told Paris exactly how much she’d get if their marriage ended.
“Whatever happens, whether it’s death or divorce, you’ll get a million dollars flat,” Jimmy said. “I’m not as rich as people seem to think, and I want you to know what you’re walking into. A lot of my money went to bad investments, a shady manager, up my nose, and in my arms.”
A million sounded like a lot to Paris. It would pay off her condo and her car and provide a nest egg for retirement. She’d still have to work, and that was fine. It just seemed weird to be in a relationship where a prenup was even necessary. Because he’s nosy, Henry had Zillow’d Jimmy’s house as soon as Paris began dating him. The “Zestimate” was around seven million because of the location and the views. She understood why Jimmy would want to protect himself.
“I’ve been burned before,” Jimmy said. “Four wives. Three rehabs. The bankruptcy in the eighties. Shit, we don’t need to rehash, you know all this. Elsie put the prenup together after wife number two. So it’s kind of, you know, boilerplate. But it protected my dumb ass when the last two marriages went south.”
“We don’t have to get married, you know,” Paris said. “I’m fine on my own. I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life.”
“I know you have.” He touched her face. “But I figure I got twenty years left, and if I’m lucky, at least ten of them will be good. I want to spend them with you. What can I say? I like being married.”
She kissed his hand.
Jimmy leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing hers. “But I want you withme, kid.Me. Not the Prince of Poughkeepsie—”
“Never seen it.”
“Or the Vegas guy—”
