The Dollhouse(10)

“He’s a dick.” Maddy rubbed her friend’s back and signaled the bartender for another round.

“He’s worried about his daughter.”

“You’re being too nice. Who leaves his girlfriend to go back to an ex-wife? He encouraged you to give up your apartment and move in with him. You gave up your apartment for him.”

The loss of her cozy studio apartment, sunny and equipped with a working fireplace, a true find in this city of overpriced hellholes, cut into her like a knife. Someone else lived there now. She’d given up the one thing she’d been most proud of: a rent-stabilized West Village studio. The perfect artist’s garret, at the top of a set of narrow, creaky stairs.

“I’m homeless.”

“No. He told you that you could stay at the condo as long as you needed. You’re not homeless.”

“A few months ago, I started having a recurring dream. That I was looking for an apartment in a strange neighborhood I’d never been to, somewhere kind of dangerous. The apartments were dirty, desolate, and I woke up in a total panic. Then I looked around and remembered how safe I was, lying next to Griff, and tried to put it out of my head. I knew. I knew all along.”

“You can always stay with us, you know that. I promise Billy and I won’t throw things at each other when you’re around.”

Rose smiled at the memory. “That was some New Year’s Eve party.”

“Don’t worry,” said Maddy. “We make up as hard as we fight.” She waggled her brows.

“That’s the difference between you and me. My work life feels crazy enough without having to come home to any madness. Griff and I love each other. Our sex life is great. He makes me laugh, he’s so supportive. Calm seas, no drama.”

“Sounds suspect to me.”

“Well, we care about each other.” The words hung in the air.

Maddy gave Rose a sideways glance and swirled the liquid in her glass. “You always have a place to crash. You know that, right?”

“I do. Thank you. Though sometimes I’m convinced I’ll end up a deranged old lady wandering around the city, looking through trash cans.”

Panic welled up. This was real, it was happening. Griff was leaving her.

“Please, don’t cry. Have another drink.”

“Fuck, Maddy. How am I going to do this?”

“You will manage the way you always have, brilliantly. Look at when you started working for the network. You were an intern one day, and the next you were reading the news.”

“First of all, that’s not quite accurate. And second, every other newscaster on Channel 7 hated me for moving up so fast.” Their catty comments still stung.

“True. But that just made you more determined. And now you’ve dumped all the stupid hairdos at the network for something more serious. No more talking head. You’re running the show.”

“Tyler, the preteen despot, is running the show.”

“For now, but wait until WordMerge is bought by a big fish, which you know is going to happen. Then you’ll be right back on top.”

“You’re very optimistic. In the meantime, my salary’s been cut in half. And you’re rewriting history. I got tossed out of network news. I didn’t move on voluntarily. I’m thirty-five and all washed-up. In more ways than one.”

“Stop that. I’m going to pee. Don’t go anywhere.”

Rose looked around the room. Who were all these people working at jobs they thought were important and then going home to someone they loved and hoped loved them back? How did anyone ever survive it, knowing that their story was just a single beam among millions of flashing lights? That no one mattered much at all, when it came down to it. Rose was unimportant, inconsequential, a face in the crowd. Petals on a wet, black bough, according to Ezra Pound.

Maybe Griff’s panic could be contained. The pressure he was under, from the mayor, from Connie, must be intense. He would change his mind, once they talked again. She’d fix this, and everything would go back to normal, a simple blip in a long, loving relationship, one they’d laugh about on their honeymoon.





CHAPTER FOUR



New York City, 1952


Stella cornered Darby as she stuck her key into her door. “Where on earth have you been all day? Better get yourself changed, Defiance: We’re off to the theater and dinner and you must come.”

Darby had hoped to avoid the gazelles. Earlier that morning, she’d read quietly in her room until they left on yet another outing, and then she slipped out through the lobby without making any eye contact. From there, the day improved. She walked each street between Central Park and York Avenue, going east and then west and then east again, until she reached Fifty-Third Street. She ate a quick bite at a cafeteria, then continued on.

The grid pattern made her feel safe, and as she walked, her shoulders dropped an inch or two. She began looking up at the buildings instead of down at the sidewalk, and eventually a dizzying amazement replaced the buzz of dread.

But now her feet throbbed, her calves ached, and all she wanted was a long bath.

Stella cocked her head. “You look exhausted.”

“I was out walking, seeing the city.”

“Do you feel a little more at home now?”

Darby nodded. “Funnily enough, I do.”