Shake Down the Stars (10 page)

“I'd be delighted. We can go to the bakery you told me about and stuff ourselves with cookies.”

“That's a deal.” I take pen and paper from my bag and jot down my phone number. “Promise you'll call?”

“Scout's honor.” Her head gives an imperceptible bobble.

“Clem, are you okay to drive? Spence and I can give you a ride home if you want.”

“Oh, don't worry about me. I live up the street. One reason I haven't given up on these meetings is that I can drink as much of this fine wine as I want, then walk my drunk ass home.”

She laughs, but then as if distracted, leans back on her hands and lifts her face toward the night sky. I follow her gaze and see she's staring at Sirius and Centauri, their double helixes shining as brightly as ever. I say good-bye, but she doesn't turn; she just keeps her eyes focused skyward.

My stomach shrinks when I see Spence and Tisa in the living room saying good-bye to Roland as though they're a couple. Tisa smiles her happy nitwit smile when I walk up. “How did you like the meeting?” she asks.

“Fun!” I say.

Spence narrows his eyes.
Be nice.

Roland gives me a hug and says he hopes to see me again. He shakes Spence's hand. “Day by day.” I manage not to roll my eyes when Spence and Tisa repeat the mantra.

Tisa gives Spencer a hug. “I should get going, too.” She hugs me next as though we're long-lost friends. “It's so nice to meet you, Piper.” She waves good-bye, but then she says, “Thursday? Same place?”

Spence practically blushes. Although I'm just not sure if it's because he knows I'm looking at him or what. “Yeah, see you then.”

He helps me with my coat after she leaves. His silence says he knows good and well I'm waiting for him to explain. He doesn't, though, leaving me to ask,
“Thursday?”

“We're meeting for coffee. It's nothing.” He waves good-bye to Diane. “See you next week!” he says, and starts ushering me out the door.

“What did she mean by ‘same place'?”

“We've had coffee a couple of times, same café. It's nothing.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. But if it's nothing, then why didn't you tell me about it? We tell each other everything.”

He doesn't respond until we're at the car. “There was nothing to tell, okay?” He opens my door and motions for me to get inside. He remains silent until we're safely driving away.

“But if everything is on the up-and-up and innocent—”

He hits the brakes a little too hard when we reach the stop sign at the corner. “Tisa and I aren't up to anything. This is what Mom meant about moving on, Piper. You need to remember we're no longer married.”

I think of Clem and my decision to talk to him. If ever there was a time to talk about getting back together, it's now. “But what if I don't want to move on? What if I want more?”

Curious, he glances over at me.

“I was talking to someone tonight. She lost her husband, son, and brother in a plane crash.”

“Damn.”

“I know. But talking to her, Spence, I realized how much I don't want to lose you. I mean, I know we're there for each other, but I want us to make things more official. I love you, Spencer. I want us to get back together. Really back together. Maybe I could even move back in. I'm practically living there anyway.”

We drive quietly. I know better than to press him. As much as we love each other, for me to actually verbalize what I hope we're both feeling must come as a surprise. But someone had to say it; someone has to help us out of our perpetual limbo, and I don't mind at all that someone being me. Seeing him with the nitwit has helped me realize that we need to get back together. I need to stop sleeping around, and I could do with drinking less, too. I reach over and take his hand. “Your mom is right about moving on, but I want to move on together.”

We're at the house by now, and he cuts the engine. He then gives my hand a kiss and returns it to my lap.

“Listen, P. I have to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I asked Tisa out.”

“To coffee, you mean.”

“No. When we meet for coffee, it's more like the meetings. We talk about things. You know, she talks about her aunt, and I talk about Hailey.”

“You talk about Hailey with her?” I don't mean to sound so shrill, but it's too late.

“And you,” he adds, as though this will help. “We talk about everything. But next time is more like a date
date.
You know, dinner . . . a movie.”

I bite hard on the inside of my lip as I try to steady my breathing.

“I'm curious, that's all,” he says. “Like I said, I want to get out more. Tisa is nice. Doesn't mean I'm marrying the girl; it's just a casual night out.”

“What's so casual about dinner and a movie? You said it yourself—it's a date.”

“P,” he says, taking my hand again, “come on. Support me on this.”

I snatch my hand away. “Support you? I can't believe you're going out with her after what I've just told you.”

He takes the key out of the ignition and clicks the doors open, his way of signaling that I'm getting out of hand. He always clams up when our talks become too heated.

“I refuse to feel guilty about this, P. I'm not doing anything wrong here. And if you think about it, it might be good for you to get out, too. Wouldn't hurt for you to lie low on the alcohol either.”

“You're one to talk.”

He leans back against his seat and stares at the roof of the car. “It's just one date.” He turns slowly. “You know I love you, Piper. I will always love you. We were a family. We still are. I just
—
I feel dragged down.”

“By me?”

“No. Not you. By everything. I feel like I'm wasting away. I don't want to spend the rest of my life like this.”

“We could try to help each other. It's
me
you're talking to. No one knows you better, Spencer. No one can love you more than I do.”

“I know.” His eyes meet mine, and when he doesn't look away, I lean in and close my eyes. I open my mouth just enough, but then, not a second later, I feel nothing except a peck on the cheek. I shoot my eyes open and see he's already on the other side of the car.

“Friends?”

I'm not sure if I'm more angry or embarrassed. Before I say something I might regret, I get out of the car, slamming the door behind me. I rush up to the front porch and start digging in my purse for my keys.

He walks up and watches me closely. “Piper, did you hear what I said? Can we be friends?”

“Why should I be your friend while you're fucking that nitwit?”

“I keep telling you, we're not doing anything.”

“Not yet,” I say. I find my keys and start to let myself inside the house, but then he moves in front of me with his arm blocking the door.

“No, Piper. That's what I'm trying to tell you. We can't keep doing this. I need a break. I want to be alone.”

When he refuses to move, I take a step back. All these years of walking through that door, and now he won't let me inside.
“Spencer.”

He lowers his head. “Some other time, okay?”

My throat is tight, my tongue dry. I start for my car. “I hope you have a nice time with Tisa!” I yell. “I hope you two have fun fucking in our home!”

“P?” he says. “P! It's not like that. It's just for a little while, okay? I'll call you.”

I ignore him, though. I get inside my car and drive away as quickly as I can. Naturally, the last thing I want is for him to see that I'm crying.

M
argot is dazzling in white silk crepe. She turns in front of one of the long mirrors at Rebecca Rankoff's studio, and we ooh and aah at the creped back and matte crepe finishes of the gown she wears and the veil woven with hints of gold. Already teary, Mom clasps her hands in adoration. “Oh baby, you look stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

Danielle stands beside Mom and bursts into teary applause. “Margot! Oh my God! Curtis is going to flip when he sees you.”

I join in, too. It's hard not to. The dress is sexy yet sophisticated, modern yet timeless.

Last week, a couple of days after Halloween, Margot and Curtis signed a deal for a new reality TV show called
Margot and Me.
I knew the show was a possibility what with all the meetings and phone calls taking place long before their engagement party, but since nothing came to fruition, I assumed the idea was merely that. But apparently TV has become so bad, someone out there believes a vapid football player and his vain girlfriend are interesting enough to garner an audience. Who knew? The show will focus on Margot more than Curtis, with the plot revolving around what it's like to be married to a football star. The producers also think they can gain a Christian audience since Margot and Curtis are involved in the church. Moreover, there's her attempt at starting an acting career and their plan to have a baby. Combine this with guest appearances from people in the entertainment and sports industry, and everyone is predicting a hit. Cameras have already started following Margot. The only reason they aren't here now is that Rebecca Rankoff, the wedding gown designer, refuses to allow cameras inside her place of business, and everyone agrees the wedding dress should be a surprise, anyway.

In order for the wedding to air during sweeps, Margot and Curtis changed their initial date from March of the year after next to July, only eight months away. It's been a nightmare as far as changing venues, but she and Curtis are willing to do what it takes, and bribe whomever necessary, to get what they want. The only person they couldn't bribe is Firth, who was booked solid, which means boon times for Danielle, of course, who ecstatically agreed to take over the planning.

Mom gives Margot a hug. “I'm so proud of you, baby.”

“Oh, Mommy,” Margot says with a sniffle. “Isn't it perfect?”

We're all being fitted today by Rebecca herself, an elfinlike creature who speaks in hushed tones as though her vocal cords sit on reeds blown by a gentle breeze. She whispers now to one of her assistants who rushes up to Margot and wraps measuring tape around her waist before typing something into her tablet.

I walk over to the walled mirror and gaze at my reflection. The Greek-inspired bridesmaids' dresses are made from silk chiffon with taffeta trim. Going against the typical edict whereby the sister serves as maid of honor, Margot gave Danielle the number one position (“You don't mind do you? I know the wedding means a lot to you, but Danni was around more when I was single, so she really gets what this means!”). I'm actually perfectly fine with being a lowly bridesmaid. I'd have no idea what to say for a toast, otherwise.

Rebecca steps up and fluffs the bow on top of my shoulder. “It should sit high like a flower. Like so.” I have to lean in closely to hear her. Danielle, on the other hand, is another story. “Offer him fucking seventy, then!” she barks into her cell. “I don't give a rat's ass. We need him in July. He should be grateful we're asking at all. Tell him this is the kind of publicity he fucking needs if he wants to play with adults.”

Rebecca winces. I doubt many of her clients have dropped the F-bomb in her studio.

Danielle gives a satisfied nod before clicking off. “Baxter is a yes,” she tells Margot. She continues pacing the studio while typing a text. Baxter is a rap artist Curtis wants for the reception, even though it means paying double to get him to cancel a tour date so that he can be there to rap his three most popular songs.

Mom stands next to me and looks at her reflection, while Rebecca, Margot, and Danielle confer about the dress. Mom's off-the-shoulder dress highlights her figure and long legs. Unable to get enough of her reflection, she moves and sways while humming to herself. While she claims she hopes Margot's TV show becomes a vehicle for God's Word, I'm sure the former actress in her is thrilled about the face time she'll be getting on the tube.

She lifts the hem of her dress and watches the chiffon billow around her knees. She smiles rather demurely when she remembers I'm there. “You look beautiful, Piper. Who knows? Maybe you'll meet someone at the wedding. You never know. Lots of single men will be there. Lots of athletes and actors—the sky's the limit!”

“Not interested. I'm bringing Spencer as my date.”

She goes back to her reflection with a wave of the hand. “What is going on with you two, I'll never understand. I will say this, though. If a man wants you, he marries you. Or in your case, remarries you.”

What Mom knows about my relationship with Spence pretty much adds up to nothing. It's been a little more than a month since he told me about the nitwit, and after a fierce meltdown that involved impressive amounts of scotch, I've come to realize the best way to deal with the situation is to wait things out. He initially kept calling, but I made it clear that I didn't want any communication between us until he stopped seeing her. I suppose I understand why he needs a break, but my hunch tells me that losing all contact with me will speed the process along. I figure another month or so, tops, and he'll realize how much he misses me. No one understands him like I do. We have a deep and abiding bond, and if it takes dating an airhead for him to realize it, so be it.

Margot comes over and kisses Mom on the cheek, and they fall into yet another mother-daughter embrace. “Oh, Mommy, can you believe it? I'm so happy.”

I look away awkwardly; except for perfunctory hello and good-bye hugs, Mom and I don't touch much. But then Margot clasps my hand—“Group hug!” She pulls me in next to Mom and forces us into an embrace. I feel self-conscious at first but then wrap my arm around Mom and close my eyes. I think about string theory as I press my face close to hers. I think about my other self existing in a dimension where I share a heartfelt hug with my mother and sister, and we three have the kind of genuine fondness healthy families share, and after I leave Rebecca's studio, this other self goes home to Spencer and Hailey and I tell them about my day. If the theory is correct, somewhere light-years away it's highly possible I have everything I've ever wanted.

Our table at Aqua is located next to one of several floor- to-ceiling windows that overlook the shimmering blue bay. While everyone discusses wedding details, I look over the drink menu and debate the joys of a dry martini or vodka on the rocks. I haven't been drinking as much since I last saw Spencer; I want to prove to him, and myself, that I can cut back, but I've also spent the last two hours with these three and still have to get through lunch, and there's only so much a person can take. So when the waiter comes to our table, I figure
desperate times
and all that and order a double martini.

I can't help but notice how quiet everyone is after he leaves. They all stare with such solemnity, I begin to wonder if I've sprouted horns. “What?” No one says a word. Margot looks down at her hands. Danielle smirks ever so slightly.

“What?”

“We're concerned,” Margot says.

“About?”

Mom reaches for her water. “You know.”

“I have no idea. What's going on?”

“The drinking?” she says.

“I'm not the only one drinking. Margot ordered sake. And you just ordered an apple martini,” I say to Danielle.

“Yeah,” Danielle replies, “but I don't have a drinking problem.”

“Excuse me?”

“You already had champagne at Rebecca's.”

“So. Rebecca offered everyone champagne. Who in her right mind turns down free champagne?”

“We need you to have it together by the wedding,” she says firmly. “No drinking!”

Margot, who has remained perfectly doelike and passive while her friend berates me, finally pipes up. “What she means is, we're concerned, P, and we want the wedding to be perfect.”

“The wedding is in
my
hands now,” Danielle continues, “and I need everything to be just right.”

“I'm sorry; I thought the wedding was about Margot.”

“Of course it's about Margot. I want the wedding to be perfect for her.” She takes Margot's hand. “But the wedding is also going to be a televised event, which is why it has to be perfect. The show is about how Margot maintains her impeccable sense of style as much as anything else.”

“Thank you, Danni,” Margot says, patting Danielle's hand.

“You're welcome, Mags.” They beam at each other before she trains her icy greens back on me. “We're talking about a TV show! Margot is going to be a big star. A scandal at the wedding would fucking ruin that for her.”

“Danielle, watch your language.”

“Apologies, Mrs. Wright.”

I look at them all. “Scandal? Outburst? You're making me sound crazy.”

Silence.

“When you drink, you get emotional. In a
very bad way
,” Margot says, continuing with the Bambi act.

“And when you talk as if you were two years old, you're
very annoying
.”
I look around for the waiter. My drink can't come soon enough. “Is this about the engagement party?”

“It's about your life,” Mom says, sounding both snide and weary.

“Cameras will be there,” Danielle gripes. “We can't have anything go wrong.”

“So you've said.”

“We've noticed you're drinking more and more,” Margot says. “I want to see my big sister happy and pretty. Alcohol won't help.”

“You could be doing so much better in life,” Mom says.

I look from Mom to Danielle to Margot and back to Mom again. Slowly I start to get it. Something about the moment seems suspiciously rehearsed or at the very least discussed.

“Is this supposed to be some kind of intervention?” I start to laugh. “An intervention at Aqua! An intervention over drinks and sushi!” I look around the restaurant as if people are watching. “Family intervention taking place at table four!”

“Lower your voice, Piper,” Mom says under her breath. “This is no laughing matter.”

“I'm sorry.” I giggle. “I just never heard of an intervention at a sushi restaurant.”

“We're not using the word ‘intervention,'” Margot says. “We just wanted to talk to you. We're worried.”

“Let's get real,
Mags
. You're far more concerned about your wedding than about me. I get it.”

“That's not true.”

“It's not?”

Mom says, “You're making terrible choices, Piper.” She stiffens noticeably, her mouth taut. “Drinking and hanging around with your ex-husband aren't going to bring her back.”

“I know that. Don't you think I know that?”

“We all miss her, and none of us will get over the loss, but if you don't want to pray or go to church, we're not going to watch you self-destruct.”

“Thanks for the love and support, Mom.”

“I'm willing to pay for therapy,” Margot chimes in. “The best you can get. Cost is not an issue.”

“Show her,” Danielle whispers.

Margot jumps. “Oh, right.”

She takes out a pamphlet and slides it across the table. There's a picture of a white farmhouse sitting in the center of a green field and the name of a rehabilitation center at the top.

“Have you all lost your minds?” I practically shout. “I'm not an alcoholic!” I slide the pamphlet back across the table. “I'm fine!”

Danielle hands the pamphlet back to Margot. “I knew she wouldn't listen.”

“Not to you,” I snap. “Not all that long ago you were doing the wide splits on a pole. Why should I listen to you?”

As if he's heard my cries, the waiter mercifully arrives with our drinks. “God bless you.” I make a show of chugging back my martini without pause and slamming down the glass. The waiter does his best not to react as he continues serving the table. Before he has a chance to leave, I ask for another.

I then look at Danielle. “Here's something you'll understand, Danni. Go fuck yourself. Why Margot doesn't see how selfish you are is beyond me. Oh wait. She wouldn't see it because she's as selfish as you are.”

“At least she's not a cold bi—”

“Girls!” Mom says.

Margot says, “I wish you'd pray. God can help you through
anything
, P, but you have to let him help you. Look at all that he's done for me. You can have the same thing.”

Mom mutters a “Praise God,”
then adds,
“How you're living now certainly isn't working.”

I glare hard. I'm tempted to point out her hypocrisy:
With all the sleeping around and drinking you did? You judge me?
But she's practically scowling at me, and I back down as I always do.

“Don't you want to be on TV?” Margot says, looking confused.

“No, I don't want to be on TV. In fact, I want a contract written up that says they are not to tape me—ever!”

She falls back against her chair, dumbfounded by the notion that someone might pass on the opportunity to be followed by cameras 24/7. “But why, Piper? Everyone wants to be on TV!”

“God, Margot, you're like your generation's Andy Warhol.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” I sigh. “Thanks for the concern, everyone, but I don't have a drinking problem. I'm fine. I haven't had a drink in weeks. So just stop worrying about me. I'm fine.”

“How many times are you going to say you're fine?” Danielle says offhandedly. “You sound defensive if you ask me.”