I spent the remainder of the day unable to commit to an ending. I wrote several and tore up every last one of them. The story wasn’t playing out. But by the late afternoon it wasn’t the only thing that plagued me. I had yet to hear from Frederick. His silence disturbed me. Maybe after having Larry roughed up, he’d realized I was bluffing about the photos. He’d already made it clear that sleeping with me wasn’t enough motivation to cast Alicia. Yet I sensed something nasty was afoot; the sensation hung over me like the smog.
Trinity had gone to the hospital with Saffron. The inside of the flat was as dreary as outside, so I switched a lamp on and was pouring myself a drink when there was an urgent knocking on the door to the townhouse. Whoever it was wanted their presence known and then some.
I opened the window and called down. A figure stepped out onto the sidewalk but the mist concealed him, then a once-yearned for voice cut through the fog like a swift stroke from an executioner’s sword.
“It’s Dean.”
He stood on the street below me like a ghoulish Romeo. Through the grey haze, I could make out an outline. He was wearing a long black trench coat that flapped open in the wind as he held tight to the black fedora on his head.
“Clara, please let me in. I need to talk to you.”
Something in his voice was off. It was imploring and sombre. I swallowed hard and felt the knot in my stomach twist tighter.
“I’ll come down,” I said.
Once inside the flat, he removed his hat and flashed me a brief smile that was the type to make teenage girls swoon. I remember when it had the same effect on me.
“Have a seat,” I said and made a sweeping gesture towards the sofa. I hung up his coat and hat and took up residence in the pale slipper chair by the window. Despite the window being closed, the draft was palpable.
Dean clutched his shirt collar tightly around his neck. “Don’t you find it cold?”
“Not especially,” I shrugged and waited. The thing with awkward set-ups like this is that no one wants to be the first to spill. I could make it easy on him and tell him I knew all about the pregnancy, but I could see how nervous he was, upset even, and I can’t lie, I enjoyed it. If leaving me didn’t make him uncomfortable, then this certainly did. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them like he was starting a campfire.
“Want marshmallows to go with that?” I teased without smiling.
“Funny,” he said.
I could sense myself fidgeting, and there was one way to stop it. I finally had a reason to open the pack of cigarettes that were hiding in the train case. I went and got one and lit it.
“Since when do you smoke?” he asked me. He seemed disappointed. I liked that.
“Since you walked out on me,” I said bluntly. “Next.”
More rubbing of hands. I rolled my eyes. It was too painful to take.
“What do you want, Dean?” I asked and blew smoke above his head. We watched as it circled and swayed between us before dissipating into invisible particles. Kind of like our marriage.
“I didn’t know who else to turn to,” he stammered.
“What’s the matter? You and Amber fighting over baby names?” I said cruelly. By the look on his face, I could tell he didn’t think I knew. “Yes, Dean. I know all about it.”
I expected a vitriolic attack at worst or an apology for the delayed announcement at best. Instead, he hesitated, though it was obvious he had something important to say. At last he spoke.
“There is no baby,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked, not expecting him to say that. “Did she miscarry?”
“She had an abortion,” he said matter-of-factly.
I didn’t know where to look or what to say. I wasn’t one to judge, but to give up a baby … She must be torn up about it. Then I thought back to yesterday afternoon near The Savoy, my following Amber down that dead-end road. She must have gone to some backroom quack. The poor, fool kid. Maybe if I’d spoken to her …
“She got the lead part in Frederick Marshall’s movie. She was so excited, but then she found out she was pregnant,” he stopped talking and looked at me. I raised an eyebrow like it was attached to a crane and said nothing. He continued. “I tried to tell her that Marshall could schedule the film shoot to accommodate her changing figure. You know the drill. But she said she needed to be free to work on her career. That a baby would be in the way.”
He stood up and began to pace. “Turns out she never loved me. She was using me to get her career going. You should have seen her flirting with Frederick Marshall. It sickened me. I only put up with it because, well …”
“Because you wanted him to hire you too,” I said. I knew him so very well. “You need a drink? We have some bourbon that might pass the test.” He nodded. I got up and crossed to the kitchen cupboard and took down two old-fashioned glasses and opened the bottle. My mind started to target Frederick. He must have convinced her to do it. He was a dangerous and powerful man, just like Niall had said. Putting Larry into the hospital and now this. I poured the bourbon out neat and went back into the living room, carrying the bottle under my arm. Dean took the glass from my hand and shot it back.
“Good thing I brought the bottle,” I said coolly and poured him another. This time he sipped.
“I’m sorry” was all I could think to say.
“I knew you would be. Despite all the bad things I did. How I hurt you. I knew you’d have sympathy.”
“You knew I still loved you, you mean?” I said.
He nodded. “Do you?”
I let the bourbon burn a trench down the inside of my throat.
“Clara, I’m so sorry for what I did to you. You didn’t deserve that,” he said softly, and he put his arms around me, burying his face in my shoulder, his voice muffled by my hair. “I know the pain I caused. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Yes,” I choked a little. He sensed he was squeezing me too hard and he let me go. We stood there eye to eye. Then he kissed me. Gently at first, like a brother kisses a sister, but then it went on too long to be chaste, to be a note of affection between old friends. The kiss quickly became passionate, and I felt the comfortable rhythm of his tongue lashing against mine. It was like a dream. A colourful dream come true set against the background of a black and white nightmare. Then we were apart again and his eyes seemed alive once more. That smile that could make teen girls faint was let loose, only I didn’t feel a swooning sensation run up my spine.
“Can I come back home?” he asked, and a boyish grin spread across his face. “I’ve been wrong. I took you for granted, how much you loved me. No one will ever love me like you do.”
My eyes widened. I had fantasized about this moment once, what seemed like a long time ago, and now here it was and it was all wrong. He was still the selfish man I married. It was all about him. I turned away from him and buried my face in my hands, even though no tears came.
“Clara, I’m sorry if what I said repulses you,” he said and grabbed my shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said it. Not after everything. But you need to know I’ve changed. I can finally appreciate you.”
I couldn’t face him. I thought of the typewriter sitting on the desk, waiting for my fingers to touch it, to finish the script and end this torment.
“I don’t know what to say,” I told him. At least that was true.
“You don’t have to answer me now,” Dean continued, but another loud rapping on the front door interrupted us.
“Busy night,” I remarked. I flew down the staircase to the door and opened it only to find Niall shivering in the doorstep.
“Niall!” I whispered and stepped outside. I balanced on the step so that if Dean happened to look out the window he couldn’t see either of us. “What are you doing here?”
“I found out something, about Amber,” he said.
I closed my eyes and spoke slowly. “She had an abortion.”
“Why am I always the last to know about Amber?” he asked flatly.
“The real question is how do you know?” I asked.
“She called me. Trouble with her boyfriend, apparently, your husband. I’m the only other person she knows.” He smirked and lit a cigarette. “Discounting Larry, of course. And he’s in no condition to offer advice to the lovelorn.” He took one drag, then offered it to me. I shook my head.
“You need to go away,” I said urgently. “Dean is here.”
He looked taken aback. Then he crinkled his eyes so tightly they nearly disappeared. “I guess this makes things pretty neat for you.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying,” I said and lifted my chin to the sky in defiance.
“You’ll like this,” he said and grabbed me tight and kissed me. Despite how furious he made me, I found myself kissing him back. He shoved me away from him with the same vengeance he’d grabbed me with.
“Are you sure you’re finished?” I asked sarcastically. It was a dumb thing to say, for he grabbed me and kissed me a second time and tossed me back against the door even more harshly than the first time.
“Now I’m sure,” he said with a glint in his eye that deserved another slap to get rid of it. “So let me guess? Dean wants to come home to mother?”
I stamped my foot in indignation. “I’m not his mother.”
“You aren’t his lover either,” he said rudely.
“Don’t you have to go back to your wife and son?” I snapped.
“Oh, that’s the other thing. Seems she preferred her lover to me. She hightailed it out of our place this morning. Sam’s moved in with a bandmate.”
I was dumbstruck. He was so cold about it all. He might as well have been discussing his library dues.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” I said, softening my tone.
Before he could answer, Dean called down from the top of the stairs.
“Clara?” he said. “I have to get back to the hotel. Amber doesn’t know I came here.
Niall smirked at me. “Good work, Clara, you got him lying to the mistress.”
“Go stand in the next doorway,” I pleaded. “He can’t see you.”
Niall did as I asked, and when he was safely out of sight, I opened the door.
“It was neighbourhood kids selling papers,” I explained. Dean walked down towards me with his coat and hat on. He grasped my chin in his hand and kissed me again. My mouth felt cold against his. I could still taste Niall.
“You don’t have to answer me tonight,” he repeated. “But I’m going to end things with Amber and move into my own room at The Savoy.”
He lifted his head and stroked my face with his right hand.
“Goodnight, Clara.”
“Goodnight, Dean.”
I watched him slump away into the fog. From behind me came the scraping of Niall’s shoes on the damp pavement. He popped his head over my shoulder.
“Goodnight, Dean,” he repeated and waved at the fog.
“Oh, shut up,” I said and went upstairs. He followed. I didn’t stop him, but I didn’t want to encourage anything either.
“I’m in no mood for romance,” I said sharply. “If you think we’re sleeping together again.”
“Hush,” he cut me off. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Before I could answer, there came another loud bang on the door.
“Again? What is this? A flophouse for cheating husbands?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Says you,” I answered. “Stay here. Maybe Dean forgot something.”
I went downstairs for the third time that night and without hesitation swung open the door. He stood there grinning like he was giving me a cheque for a million bucks. From where I stood, it felt like someone had tied a noose around my neck and cinched it tight.
“Good evening, Clara. It’s time for our getaway. I’ve been longing to show you my country place.”
It was Frederick Marshall.