Armani Angels (24 page)

Gemma swung her chair around and stared out of the window. Her mind clattered away.

She'd returned this morning and still hadn't had a chance to speak with Stephen. This was obviously not a conversation that she could have over cornflakes and between rubbish collection discussions. Besides, the Mal-Teaser was in two days' time. And there was so much pressure on her to ensure it was the best party the town had ever seen. Not to mention beat that old crone. Gemma had heard that the Dame had secured a fifty-thousand-dollar donation towards the event and that her Rum Ball was sold out. That would make her neck and neck with Gemma's team. Gemma needed more money, but from where? She had squeezed every last drop out of her sources.

Her mind wandered back to Peter Blakely again. It was wrong, what they'd done in New York. A thrill that started in her Victoria Secrets shuddered through her body, the momentary guilt dissipating with the thrill of the memory.

The whole thing was so impossible, though. Peter lived on the other side of the world – talk about long-distance relationships – and she was not about to move to New York.

She sighed as she decided it was just a stupid, badly timed one-night stand that was headed nowhere.

The guilt crystallised again and her sweet memories vanished. What had she done? Ever since she'd left New York, she'd been swaying between guilt and joy.

She'd had a panic attack on the plane just as it had started to taxi away from JFK. The flight attendant had given her cold face washers and a paper bag. It hadn't been as bad as the one at the day spa, but it had still frightened her.

The feeling of claustrophobia, of being trapped, of never being able to get out of the closed-in steel cylinder had overwhelmed her. She'd gotten worse, her breathing shorter. The passenger next to her had stared at her strangely, and she knew she just needed to calm down but it was impossible. It only lasted minutes at the most. By the time the plane was in the air she'd managed to get herself under control. But the anxiety continued to stalk her mind.

In fact, she was feeling the same sense of anxiety welling right now. If she didn't take action, make some decisions, she'd be crippled with these panic attacks forever. She needed to talk to Stephen. Her temples thumped with an immediate headache at the idea.

She'd just wanted the best for Tyler, and if she was honest, to maintain the domestic ideal; the whole white picket fence and family fantasy that she'd so badly wanted in childhood. To fail at marriage herself, to put her son through a divorce had seemed an unimaginable failure, but now she saw that living this half-life of unhappiness and discontent was just as bad for him. She would have to let go of the fantasy and face the reality that the marriage was over, that she and Stephen would need to act like adults for the sake of their son and do their best to separate amicably and remain friends.

She looked at the clock. It was three-thirty pm. Stephen got home at four most days. She needed to sort this out now.

She would be patient and gentle with Stephen; she didn't want to hurt him, but he had to know she couldn't go on like this anymore. She was capable of being happily single; obviously a relationship with Peter would be impossible given that they lived on opposite sides of the world. She might be lonely, but it would be better than being constantly reminded of her marital unhappiness.

She hoped Stephen would concur and not create a scene. And she hoped he would allow her and Tyler to remain in the house and agree to move elsewhere.

By the time the Audi neared her Hawthorn home Gemma was certain about the new family plan although miserable she'd relegated Peter to a never-to-be pigeonhole in the filing system of her life.

It was going to go very well, she decided. She would go into Stephen's study, and explain that they needed to let go of the broken marriage and have the strength to do what was best for their son. A life with two happier parents – albeit in two different homes. She bit her lip at the thought, then reminded herself that not all divorces had to be as ugly as her parents'. She and Stephen were mature adults. He might object and be hurt at first, but she was sure he would ultimately accept that they were only going through the motions of having a relationship and see that they could each have a future separately.

She thought back to when they met. They were at a university basketball game. She'd been one of the cheerleaders and he'd been playing centre. That was the first time they kissed. She'd blamed the box of wine they'd shared after the game. Later, back in her dorm room, they'd had sex all night long. She'd been a bit too drunk to truly remember it but she'd been thrilled the next day when he'd stayed with her and hadn't scarpered post-coitus like other guys did. He'd been really into her and for that she was grateful. She'd revelled in the attention.

Her parents had always been self-involved and too busy provoking the other to notice their attention-starved daughter. Looking back, she realised that her neediness had played a big part in her relationship with Stephen. It probably also explained why she put up with friends like Mercedes. She was often so relieved to be loved by her friends that she didn't see how damaging they could be.

Unfortunately that first time with Stephen was the weekend she got pregnant. When she'd told him that she was carrying his child, they were so head over heels in lust with each other that they decided that it was meant to be. They deferred their studies and started playing happy families.

It hadn't gone stale immediately. But it became apparent by the time Tyler was at school they just weren't well suited. They'd both been able to successfully ignore each other by leading separate lives. It hadn't been terrible; in fact, there had been some good times watching baby Tyler grow, family holidays, great parties. She'd often looked at her relationship and compared it to others'. Everyone was struggling. No couple lived in romantic la la land after the first five years. Especially those who had children. Everyone had to work at it. That's why she'd just kept her mouth shut, focused on her career and Tyler.

She pulled into her driveway and nearly rear-ended a black Mercedes convertible. She reversed and drove her car up beside the Merc. It was Mercedes's Mercedes. What in the hell was Mercedes doing here?

She probably wanted to go over some petty details of the dancers' hair and make-up. What rotten timing. But why was she at the house? Why hadn't she come by the office? Gemma was never home this early. Hmmm. Odd.

She went to the front door, opened it and walked into the hallway. Tyler was in the kitchen downing his customary litre of afterschool orange juice.

‘Mum,' he said, his eyes wide. He looked up the hallway and back again.

‘Hello, sweetie.' She smiled at him.

‘Mum, wha – what are you doing here?'

‘I'm home early for a change. Is Mercedes here? Her car's out the front. She must be in the study talking to Dad. What's wrong? You look as if you've seen a ghost.' She turned to walk down the hall.

Tyler called after her. ‘No, Mum. Don't go in there.'

‘It's okay, I just have to see Dad.' Her hand was on the doorhandle of the study when Tyler jogged up the corridor behind her.

‘Mum, I need to talk to you.'

She flung the door open. At first she was unsure of what she was seeing. The world tilted a little. What were they doing? She tipped her head to one side as the couple sprang apart. Guilty looks filled their faces.

‘Gemma, I can explain,' Stephen started. Gemma felt a mixture of nausea and anger but mostly a flood of relief that the ridiculous sham of their relationship was over in that one split second.

‘Really?' Gemma said. ‘So I presume you're going to tell me this is “not what it seems”?'

‘I knew you weren't planning a surprise party,' Tyler said from behind.

Gemma spun around. ‘Tyler. Go back to the kitchen.'

‘Surprise party,' he scoffed and slouched away.

Mercedes buttoned her top, put on her shoes and had the decency to look suitably ashamed.

‘Oh, Gemma, I am so sorry,' she said.

‘Get out of my house, Mercedes,' Gemma said quietly, without looking at her.

As Mercedes stood to go, Stephen stood up. ‘Wait, I've got something to say.'

Mercedes turned to him. ‘No, Stephen, don't.'

Gemma rolled her eyes at the pathetic soap opera she was witnessing.

‘I must, Mercedes,' Stephen said. ‘Gemma, Mercedes and I . . .' he gave Mercedes a lingering gaze and looked back to Gemma, ‘well . . . we're having an affair.'

‘Really?' Gemma said again, sarcasm dripping from every drawn-out syllable. ‘I'm glad you pointed it out, because, hey, I'm no Angela Lansbury. So how long?'

‘Since your trip to New York in June.'

‘You're so sad; I really feel for you. And me. And Tyler. All of us.' She slumped into the office chair and looked at her husband. ‘I need to talk to you, Stephen.' She looked up at Mercedes who was hovering at the doorway.

‘What are you still doing here? Get,' she said. Mercedes grabbed her bag and skittered off down the hallway and out the door.

As she passed through the kitchen, Gemma heard Tyler call out after her, ‘Surprise!'

Gemma shut the door and returned to the office chair. It made her feel sick to watch Stephen slipping on his shoes, especially given what she'd just done in New York.

‘Look,' Stephen began on the defensive, ‘I was forced into Mercedes's arms. You're always at work, Tyler's a bag of misery, there's no joy in my life. I needed some loving. I'm only human . . .'

‘Shhh,' Gemma put up a hand to silence him. ‘Don't worry, I understand what you're going through. Believe me.'

‘It's not my fault, Gemma. I didn't mean to hurt you, but Mercedes was there for me.'

‘I know, Stephen, it's okay. It's not your fault. You're right: we are both to blame.'

Stephen's eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you being so good about this? You're not tearing strips off me.'

‘You're not alone here, Stephen. I slept with Peter Blakely in New York this week. So believe me, I understand what you're going through.'

The air in the small study thickened. Sweat prickled under Gemma's arms. She watched her husband process the information. His jaw dropped.

‘What the fuck?'

‘I know, Stephen, it was wrong. But at least we're both in the same boat, we can understand each other and move on . . .'

‘
You whore!
'

‘Stephen, I hardly think that's appropriate.' She glanced at the door, worried that Tyler might have heard.

‘I can't believe you've been screwing around on me.' He bashed the wall with the heel of his palm. He spun back to face her and hissed, ‘You're my wife!'

She was getting angry now. ‘Only by marriage, Stephen,' she spat in a threatening undertone. ‘I think it's best if you go now, Stephen, go to Mercedes and have a think about where to from here.'

‘Oh, I will, don't you worry!' He picked up his satchel and suit coat and strode to the door. He pulled it open and as he passed through it she heard him mutter under his breath, ‘Slut.'

Gemma stared after him. Then pulled out her iPhone and texted Chantelle.
Pls find new hair and make-up artist for models. Mercedes sacked.

Later that night, Gemma flung herself onto the couch next to Tyler. ‘It's late,' she said.

‘Yeah, you're right.' He pushed the remote button to turn the television off. ‘Dad gone?' Tyler asked.

‘Yes, mate, I'm sorry you had to see what was going on. Dad and I are going to separate. He'll pick up the rest of his stuff on Sunday while I'm taking you to the paintball party.'

‘Good.'

She looked at him, taken aback. ‘Good? Since when is it good that your parents are splitting up?'

He turned to her with a serious face. ‘Mum, it's been so long since you guys could even spend five minutes together before things got nasty. It's a bloody relief that you're splitting, to be honest. And it's not like I'll be the only kid at school whose parents aren't together.'

‘Well, you'll fit right in then, won't you?' She smiled. ‘Seriously, are you really okay with it?'

‘Yeah, I really am, Mum. I can't tell you how relieved I am that it's all over.'

‘The tension between your dad and me?'

‘Yeah, and all the bullshit, you know?'

‘I sure do know,' Gemma said.

‘That slut Mercedes coming over all the time,' he said.

‘They didn't go upstairs together while you were home, did they?' Gemma asked, horrified her son may have witnessed some X-rated behaviour.

‘No, I just heard them giggling and carrying on in the study. But I knew what they were up to. She had the nerve to tell me they were planning some party for you so I had to keep her visits a secret.'