“All right. Shall we read lines?” I asked her.
“All work and no play,” she said, teasing me. “I didn’t expect this out of you.”
“I’m trying to take my life more seriously these days,” I said, laughing.
She laughed along, trying to draw out the joke. But was I joking? “You’re hilarious.”
The day went on in a similar fashion, with Theresa hanging onto my every word and namedropping friends we had in common and reciting tales that had happened at my parties. Most of the time, I had no recollection of the stories whatsoever. Most of the time, they fell on deaf ears.
At eight o’ clock at night, we split up for the day. Hank sent Theresa and I out the door to speak with the cameramen and production crew. We walked into the toiling sunshine, our feet hobbling over cobblestones. Theresa brought her face skyward, sighing.
“I think this is the best city in the world,” she whispered. “I’m so happy I get to live here for two months for this film. Maybe I’ll even extend it. Stay for the winter. I don’t know.”
I didn’t know what she wanted me to say. Did she want me to tell her to stay? To stay with me? I hummed, wondering if I could break off, make an excuse. Theresa gestured toward a side alleyway, giving me a playful smile. “Why don’t we head to that cozy wine bar down the road? Catch up with each other? Don’t you want to hear all the New York gossip you left behind?”
I stood, poised, on the street corner. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that if I went with Theresa, I would sleep with her. She was yanking me along, literally pulling me to bed. Meanwhile, at home, Margot and Gigi were probably doing arts and crafts, their scissors weaving across paper and their giggles carrying out over the rooftops.
I shook my head. I wrinkled my forehead, giving her a shy shrug. “You know, I’m exhausted. I really think I’ll go home for the day. But we’ll catch up tomorrow? At work. Okay?”
Without waiting to hear her drawn-out answer, I turned swiftly and rushed into another side alleyway, chasing the sun to the major road between this district and the next. After an entire day away from Margot and Gigi, I knew I needed to clear things up. I needed to tell Margot the truth.
Which was simply this: I wasn’t sure about anything, except that I missed her. That I wanted to be near her. That I wanted to accept that I was falling in love with her—even though I was afraid. Wasn’t that the very heart of love? Accepting that it was scary?
I began to pick up the pace. Cars sped past me, small and compact, unlike the American ones I used to drive. When I reached our steps, a smile stretched across my face. I realized, for the first time, that I was coming back to something that mattered. It mattered more than those reckless parties, back in New York. It mattered more than any woman I’d ever slept with, or given a passing fancy to.
It was home.
When I entered through the door, I found myself face-to-face with a girl, a young woman who waved her hand to me in greeting. “Hey there,” she said. “I just got here. Your wife said you wouldn’t be home and she’s going out to meet up with friends. She’s just getting ready now.”
“What?” I asked, genuinely shocked. “She said what?”
“Oh. I don’t know. I’m just here for a few hours, till you got back…” She trailed off. “I’ve babysat for you before, Mister Garrington, remember?”
“Sure.” I barely did. I walked toward the corner bedroom, in which Margot was blaring music, and knocked on it. She appeared in the crack, her eyes dark.
“What is it?” she asked me, her voice crisp.
“It’s me. It’s Jack.”
“I know,” she answered tersely. “I can recognize voices. Amazing, isn’t it?”
I paused, realizing this was one of our first interactions in several days. Bumbling, I took a step back, cracking the door wider. She was dressed up in a slinky back thing, one for clubbing, and had put on thick black eye makeup, bright red lips. She scowled at me like a child. My heart hammered, not wanting to say the wrong thing.
“What is it?” she asked again, echoing herself.
“Why did you hire a babysitter?” I asked.
“Because I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going out. It’s after nine, and Gigi’s going to bed. I didn’t want to hang around here by myself again.” Her nostrils flared, although her lips grew softer. She couldn’t stay so angular for long.
“Where are you going? Can I come with you?” I asked.
“No. I don’t want to tell you,” she said, slipping past me. I eyed her ass, which was perky and small and nice beneath the black dress. She passed some cash to the babysitter, saying, “I guess you don’t need to stay, but here’s some money anyway. Thanks for your troubles.”
“Margot—“ I began, stuttering slightly. “I don’t think you’re making a good decision here.”
“Who are you to say if I’m making a good decision?” she asked me, her eyebrows high. She waited for the young, would-be babysitter to leave before hitting me with the rest of it. “Should I really be paying attention to what you say? Do you want to be my husband?”
I balked, stepping back. The words felt sharp and fresh, as if she’d smacked me. My heart felt tinged with anger, with sadness, with the tragedy of falling in love too late.
“Anyway,” Margot said, flipping her hair. It was styled with hairspray, making her look several years older and even sexier than her normal, demure self. “I’ll be off. Don’t wait up for me, Jack.” She sped toward the door, leaving me in the living room. I heard her heels on the steps, heard her slam the door. In the silence that followed, I stood, poised, my legs straight and stick-like and my heart hammering.
What the hell was I going to do?