Dead to Her(64)

“Jason!” she called out. He didn’t even look back, and after a moment, she had no choice but to head in the same direction. The Pierrots pretended to cry as she passed, mocking her upset, and then flourished hands with a smile to direct her, as if she didn’t already know the way.

There were so many guests. It was as if the whole of the city had been invited, and Marcie felt lost as she walked into the multicolored kaleidoscope of light and music and bodies. Podiums had been placed around the candlelit gardens and contortionists and fire-eaters dazzled the onlookers who sipped their chilled Cristal. The vibe was richly decadent and the mood seemed to have spread through the guests, who laughed too loudly for polite company and touched and flirted around her. Marcie shivered despite the terrible heat. It was dangerous. It was too much. It was very Keisha.

She grabbed a drink from a passing waiter, who, like his coworkers, was dressed in black from head to toe, as if simply a faceless shadow or a ghost, a devilish sprite, and forced her way toward the house.

A few people turned and looked her way as she passed them by, nods of appreciation from the men, circumspect appraisal from the women, but with everyone’s face hidden to one extent or another, Marcie could barely tell who was who even when she did know them. The tennis club set were gathered by the lit-up champagne fountain and canapé counter, heads thrown back in overloud laughter as their men talked among themselves elsewhere.

She couldn’t see Jason anywhere, nor could she see any of their set. But as more people arrived, the garden was getting crowded. There were way more guests than William’s usual hundred or so closest friends who were normally invited onto this hallowed ground. Three hundred perhaps. Too many. Marcie’s head started to spin. It was crazy that she and Jason were here after what had just happened at home. Was Jason telling William about it right now? Talking to Noah? Discussing how best to get rid of her?

She drained her champagne and reached for another glass on a passing tray. Mint julep. Eleanor’s drink. Not to Marcie’s taste but she drank it anyway. She needed something to calm her down. It wasn’t just that Jason now knew—awful as that was—it was that someone else did. The person who’d sent that envelope. But who was it? Someone here? Were they watching her now? Her breath caught as she turned on the spot, searching the people around her. It felt as if they were looming at her out of the night, laughing at her, faces distorted and monstrous rather than beautiful.

Her own mask was tight against her skin, pressing at her temples and eyes, and for a moment she was sure she would faint. She needed to get inside to the cool air-conditioning, away from the crowd. The terrace doors were pinned open behind the band that played old-style jazz born in a time of prohibition, and Marcie slipped gratefully inside.

She was headed to one of the downstairs bathrooms when an arm grabbed her, long fingernails tight on her skin, so suddenly that she almost shrieked.

“Marcie.”

The creature before her was a blazing phoenix. The red and gold of the ruby-encrusted flamboyant mask was an extension of the dress that swirled bright and tight around Keisha’s magnificent body. At a quick glance she was alight and beautiful and powerful, but her eyes, trapped in all that glamour, were bloodshot and fearful.

“I have to speak to you. It’s all awful. He hates me. He’s going to get rid of me, I can feel it.” She gripped Marcie’s arm tighter. “Can’t we run away? You don’t love Jason, I know you don’t. I can take some jewelry, we’ll have money . . .”

Marcie yanked her arm free. She didn’t need this. Not now. “I’ve got my own shit going on, Keisha. I can’t deal with you and your crap.” Keisha thought she had problems. How could Marcie explain to her what Jason now knew? How her own life, just when it had become filled with so much promise, was rapidly going down the tubes and she had to rescue it somehow? She stared at the younger woman, exasperated. “I’ve told you before. I can’t be poor again. I won’t. Where could we run with nothing? Nowhere.”

“But you don’t understand. I can’t go on like this! I can’t,” Keisha said. “And today he got a—”

“I can’t deal with this.” Marcie cut her off. “Not now. Take care of your own shit.”

She turned away and moved quickly, not so much as glancing back until she was safely locked in the bathroom, finally alone. She ripped the claustrophobic mask from her face and pressed her head against the cool tiles.

She wanted to cry, self-pity welling up inside her. Maybe running away with Keisha was going to be her best option after all, but how would that work? She was used to the finer things in life now, and was on the cusp of being respected. They’d be a joke, the talk of the town forever, and torn apart by expensive divorce lawyers, no doubt left with nothing, not even their dignity. They’d end up in some trailer somewhere, where still people would sneer at them as outcasts. It would be worse than it had been before.

Her stomach tightened and she took a few shaky deep breaths to stop herself from throwing up. Pull yourself together, she told herself. It’s not over yet. Jason wasn’t going to come at her with a divorce right away. He’d want to think his options through. Plus, this was high society, where appearances were everything; wasn’t that why they were at the party? Things between them would probably never be the same, but surely he’d want to paper over the cracks? He didn’t need another divorce and it wouldn’t do him any good at all if anyone else found out about her past. Mud would stick. He’d already had one scandal with his father; he didn’t need another one with his second wife.