The Friends We Keep(63)

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The cocktail hour at the gala was interminable. The rooms were packed, the music blaring, people yelling to be heard over it. The stark white walls of the gallery were hung with works by Degas, Monet, Manet, Toulouse-Lautrec, Seurat, Sisley, all of the greats, but everyone was ignoring the paintings, too busy looking around to see who was who, and what they were wearing.

The gowns were magnificent. Jewel colors draped around aging women who were size zero, their tan, bony shoulders exposed in silks and satins, their hair sprayed into coiffed helmets, their cheekbones unnaturally high and round as they chattered excitedly with their friends. They were accompanied by husbands in black tie, many of whom appeared to be thirty years older than their wives, until you looked at the wives’ hands, bejeweled and wrinkled, the only giveaway of their age. The men stood together as the women admired their dresses, showed off their jewels, subtly eyed each other up and down to make sure they were wearing a more expensive, more exclusive outfit, a bigger necklace, better jewels.

Through it all, Evvie stood, and smiled, air-kissed people she knew, made small talk with the wives of Lance’s colleagues, even though she knew they did not think much of her, these New York society matrons. She knew they judged her and found her inferior, the ex-model, half-black, once-single mother who would never, ever be good enough for them.

She became aware of a woman staring at her, a woman who seemed to have been staring at her throughout the evening. She was an actress Evvie vaguely recognized from a popular television show. She was petite, and pretty, and worked on. Her lips were pouty in the artificial way that immediately told Evvie they had been plumped, her breasts the sort of large melons Lance loved. Her arms were toned and tanned, and her hair a waterfall of glossy blond.

Evvie found herself catching the eye of the blonde enough times that she was wondering if perhaps they had met, or—unlikely—that Evvie had done something at some time to offend her, for her gaze seemed hostile. But then, standing in a circle of people, chatting (although Evvie never felt as if she was standing in the circle, but always just outside), the blond woman was there, and they were being introduced.

“Ally, do you know Lance Colton and his wife, Evvie?” Carl Steenberg said as the actress shook her head. “Lance, Evvie, I’m sure you know the actress Ally Majors.”

“Good to meet you,” said Lance, shaking her hand.

“How do you do?” said Evvie, surprised by the firmness of Ally’s handshake. She looked so delicate, as if she would be one of those people who limply placed their hand in yours before sliding it away. But in fact she looked Evvie straight in the eye and gripped her hand, shaking it firmly.

“So lovely to meet you,” Ally said to Evvie. “I can’t take my eyes off your dress. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you so much.” Evvie wanted to warm to the compliment, yet there was a lack of warmth in the woman’s tone. “I loved the show you were in, with Rob Lowe. It was one of my favorites.”

“God, that was a long time ago. But thank you. It was huge fun.”

“Will you excuse me?” Evvie needed to get away. “I must visit the restroom.” This was the trick she always used to get away when she was uncomfortable, excusing herself to go to the restroom, or to get another drink, or to get some air—anything for a few moments of peace by herself.

She wandered through the crowds, aware that curious eyes were watching her, that there were people wanting to say hello. She stopped to greet Rena and Jason Pilalas, and Ian and Debbie O’Malley, before excusing herself, performing an old trick from her modeling days, walking off and keeping her eyes trained on the middle distance so everyone became a blur, a smile on her face, careful to avoid making eye contact.

Just as she reached the other side of the room, she turned and saw the group of people she had been standing with, the actress, Ally, now deep in conversation with Lance. As she watched, her husband reached over and placed a hand on Ally’s backside, pulling her slowly up against him. Ally smiled the most intimate of smiles, dancing her fingers up his arm, before removing it and looking around to check that no one had seen.

Her eyes landed on Evvie’s. She immediately composed her features into a cool gaze before whispering something to Lance. It was obvious that they knew each other very well, that they had known each other—Evvie guessed in the biblical sense—for some time.

Ally started walking toward Evvie, who turned on her heel and left for the bathroom, hoping the actress wouldn’t be able to follow her in the crowd. She headed downstairs, to the quiet bathroom, moving quickly. Once there, she locked herself in a stall, taking deep breaths.

So her husband was having an affair. How did she feel about it? Neither shocked, nor surprised, nor upset. Resigned, perhaps. And maybe relieved. In fact, she felt something she hadn’t experienced in a long time: a smattering of hope. If he was involved with someone else, perhaps he would leave her alone. Perhaps he would spend even more time away. This certainly explained why he had been spending so much time in the city as it was.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Evvie heard her name.

Damn.

She walked out of the stall and faced Ally, who was standing there prettily, her hands on her hips.

“So. You know.”

“That you and my husband are having an affair? I do now.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but it’s not just an affair. He is in love with me.”