The Suite Life (35 page)

Billionaire-in-the-making Alec knew just what to do with the mega-millions that came his way in his first year of business. He leveraged the money to build an ever-growing bond empire, and he greased the coffers of Robert Ross and other politicians to ensure that any door he wanted to go through would be open to him.

Meanwhile, I spent my time keeping the only door I had open—producing another play for Doris Bernstein with Mary and my gay partners—and preserving my sanity by spending as much time as I could with the regular people in my life. If I didn't have them to lean on when things got crazier than usual, I would have ended up in a rubber room somewhere.

And I also did my best to keep others out of rubber rooms whenever I was called upon to do so. I let Alec rant and rave about problems at work without saying a word about his cursing, the smashed phones, or his continuous lack of attention to me. I let Franco cry on my shoulder now and then about his broken family, without pointing out that he was in large part responsible for his plight. I turned a sympathetic ear when an
eight-months-pregnant Sofia showed up at my door dying to tell someone about finding a coke-addled Victor in a bar at two o'clock in the morning with some floozy right out of college. And I even managed not to throw up when she added that he had told her he was saving his marriage by letting off some steam. I counted my blessings after that tale of woe, as I was again reminded that things could be even worse than they were.

Then one day, they got worse. Alec was leaving on one of his endless business trips and Isabella and I were standing in front of the building to wave him off when Becca, Isabella's best friend in the world, came bounding out the door with her nanny and shouted to Isabella to come play in the park. With a glance in my direction and a quick good-bye to her father, she bolted after her friend.

“No good-bye kiss.” Alec seethed.

That fixation could be endearing, but sometimes it struck me as insane. “She's just a normal kid, Alec,” I said.

“I've told you time and time again how important it is to me,” Alec spit through gritted teeth, almost foaming at the mouth.

“I'm sorry, Alec.”

“That's not good enough.”

“What was I supposed to do? Chase her down and drag her back here?”

“Keep her at your side, you stupid cunt,” Alec roared, “like a real mother would.”

My cheeks turned beet red and I was glad I had my thousand-dollar Valentino sunglasses on as my eyes filled with tears. “Screw you, Alec,” I hissed through gritted teeth, years of unexpressed anger and frustration finally released in an instant.

I didn't see the massive palm coming. The slap to my face, which cracked my sunglasses and sent them flying to the sidewalk, left me as paralyzed as Lot's wife when she turned around to look back at Sodom burning in the fires of hell.

I covered my throbbing face with my hands as I stared at Alec in shock. The handful of people who had watched the scene unfold, including two young doormen and an officer in the private security car parked near the entrance, remained motionless as Alec got into the limo that had been waiting at the curb and slammed the door. No one dared interfere with “the Man.”

Only when the limo was rolling away did one of the doormen come forward to help me.

“You okay, Mrs. DeMarco?” he asked, placing a hand on my elbow.

For the first time, I hated hearing that name associated with me. “Yes, I'm fine,” I managed to say briskly.

“Here, let me help you up the steps,” the doorman urged, squeezing my elbow gently.

“No, I'm fine,” I lied. “Please, just get me a cab.”

“Yes, Mrs. DeMarco,” he replied, and I grabbed his arm as he started to turn around. “Is there something else?” he asked.

“Please have a babysitter pick up Isabella in the park and stay with her until I get back.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said.

I dialed Marvin and Gregory's Greenwich Village apartment number on my cell and, thank God, Gregory picked up on the second ring.

“Okay if I come over?” I asked, tears in my voice.

“Sure, Sam—what's the matter?”

Gregory cursed under his breath as I gave him a fast recap. “Beast,” he growled just before I hung up.

I hopped in the cab and rubbed my cheek as my mind raced and the bustling world of Manhattan rolled by outside the window. It was as if that blow to my face suddenly snapped me out of the trance I'd been in since my wedding day. All the abuse I'd suffered, from the time I was a child, throughout my adolescence, during my years with Tony Kroon, and, I had
to finally admit, during the time I'd been with Alec suddenly came rushing back and overwhelmed me. Luckily I arrived at my safe haven just in time to save me from sinking into total despair.

“Despicable.” Marvin steamed as the three of us sat down in their small living area. I was still shell-shocked. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

“Gordon Gekko, probably,” Gregory said.

“Alec's worse,” Marvin said. “Gekko wore his greed and lust for power on his sleeve. This guy hides behind words like
team
and
family
.” He shook his head slowly from side to side. “I know Alec is in his own world most of the time, which is abuse enough,” he went on, “but did you have any inkling he would do something like this?”

“I've been burying my head in the sand . . . turning a blind eye to everything,” I admitted aloud to myself.

“Don't beat yourself up, Sam,” Marvin said. “Alec just overpowered you in every way.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Gregory asked.

“I have no idea,” I said. “I don't really have any money of my own . . .”

“You and Isabella can stay here for as long as you need to,” Gregory said. “We're in Rhode Island most of the time, anyway, and we can stay with friends when we're in the city.”

“Thanks, guys. Really.” I paused, my mind still reeling. “But I don't think it's come to that . . . not yet.” But my voice wavered as I considered my next move. I wasn't ready to abandon Alec and destroy the family we'd created together, but any feelings of love I still had for him were dashed out of my heart the moment his palm made contact with my face.

Gregory leaned over and squeezed my hand as his partner had done. “Whatever you need, Sam, just ask,” he said.

“I will.”

Marvin sat back and crossed his arms. “You have to make a life for yourself and Isabella, Sam.”

“Easier said than done,” I said.

He rose to his feet and headed for the desk in front of a picture window that looked out onto West Fourth Street. “You've already made a start with your producing,” he said as he opened a drawer. He turned around and my eyes were drawn to the bound pages in his hands. “And this novel of yours isn't a bad way to go from there.”

The pain from Alec's slap started to heal as soon as I heard those words.

“We loved it, Sam.” Gregory smiled, and the healing continued in earnest.

“It might need a good editor,” Marvin said as he sat back down and slid my manuscript onto the cocktail table. “But I've seen coming-of-age stories get published that aren't half as good as this one is right now.”

“He's right, Sam,” Gregory said. “Why don't you get a copy to Doris? She knows a lot of people who could help you.”

If they keep this up much longer the slap will seem like just a bad dream.

In the taxi on my way back to the apartment I considered the future that Marvin and Gregory had allowed me to believe might be within my reach.

When the cab pulled up to the curb I kept my head down and moved as quickly as I could to the elevator. There was no doubt in my mind that the DeMarcos would be the lead item on the Luxe Regent's extremely active gossip grapevine, and I had no desire to make eye contact with anyone at that point.

Isabella, who was blissfully ignorant of the spectacle her parents had created on the street, lobbied me for a playdate with another friend from the building, and I was only too happy for the time alone to gather my thoughts.

There was no getting away from the sad fact that, however luxurious it might be, any home I shared with Alec would now be nothing more than a prison to me. Nor was there any way to avoid the conclusion that I bore some of the responsibility for making it so. I realized that somewhere in the back of my mind I had known this for a long time, but it had taken my husband's public burst of fury and my own public humiliation for me to admit it even to myself.

Alec had the same rescue gene as Tony Kroon, and the refugee I was had been only too willing to grab on with hands and heart to the lifeline he tossed my way. If anything was going to change I needed to keep reminding myself that I deserved more
from life than acting as someone's grateful and silent decorative appendage, and I needed to acknowledge that throughout the course of my marriage, I had gradually allowed myself to disappear. I went over and over in my mind the two options I had going forward: move out with Isabella or stay where we were, at least for now.

The first course would free me from daily suffocation, but there would be constant battles with Alec over the money I'd need to live, no matter how modestly, and over our daughter, who would have her world turned upside down. The second course would avoid those direct confrontations and buy me more time to consider the best plan for my future, but I'd be at constant risk of becoming the target of another one of Alec's explosions.

After an hour of going back and forth I still couldn't make up my mind, and I decided to call a truce on the internal battle, since Alec would be away for a week. The one thing I did know with certainty was that I would have to be my own savior.

I still had faith in Samantha Bonti, and I recommitted to using my writing to acknowledge both my virtues and my weaknesses, my despair and my hope. And at the same time, I recommitted to my faith in God and the Blessed Mother, who had always helped me through the darkest times. Getting up from the corner of the couch where I'd been huddled since I got home, I went into the bedroom and reached for the rosary under my pillow. Clutching it tightly, I sat down on the bed and prayed to be forgiven for all the months that had passed since I'd last visited a church, and then prayed with all my heart that Alec would be the last cross I'd have to bear before I could truly be happy again.

When I got up the next day, I at least knew what course I would take in the near term. I'd change the things I could change, praying for the courage to do so; I'd endure that which
I couldn't change, praying for the strength to do so; and I'd pray always for the wisdom to know which was which.

I wouldn't move out, at least for now, because I couldn't risk the full brunt of Alec's fury or the emotional harm the break might cause for Isabella. And I still felt there was a chance, however slight, that Alec would come to his senses. I left that in God's hands and turned to the things I could control.

First on the list was my writing career.

With the help of Mr. Wainwright, my high school English teacher and mentor, I'd applied to and been accepted at New York University, but despite a partial scholarship and government grants I just didn't have the means to attend without asking Alec for help. I had been in total survival mode when I first crossed the Brooklyn Bridge in search of my destiny in Manhattan, and I cursed myself for not enrolling in college when I had the chance after meeting Alec. After chastising myself once again for letting my husband take total control of my life and for succumbing to the temptations of ungodly wealth, which got me far off course, I investigated my options for higher education and settled on a creative writing seminar at NYU. I also decided that I'd take my time telling Alec about it.

Next, I summoned up my courage and got a copy of
The Blessed Bridge
into Doris Bernstein's hands, as Marvin, bless his soul, had suggested. If I'd learned anything from Alec it was the importance of “who you know,” and it couldn't hurt to have the most successful creative person I knew involved in some way. At the very least, I knew Doris would offer moral support and an honest opinion.