Before I Do(42)
“You can’t be in here now, Hillary,” said Clara. “Bridesmaids only.”
“I’m the bride’s best man, that’s basically a bridesmaid. She doesn’t mind. You don’t mind, do you, Audrey?”
Audrey shook her head. “What’s wrong?”
“I just got off the phone with my agent.” Hillary sighed, then pressed a fist against his lips. “I didn’t get that part I auditioned for. The director thinks I look ‘too young.’?” Hillary slumped down on the bed. “I’m forty-five now, when am I going to stop being discriminated against for my youthful appearance?”
“Most people would be happy to be told they look young,” Clara pointed out.
“I’m tired of playing pretty-boy parts, they’re always the dullest roles. I’m due a career renaissance like Hugh Grant or Matthew McConaughey, where their craggy wrinkles and receding hairline give them a new depth of expression. As a man, do you know how many more interesting roles you get offered when you lose your looks?”
“I wouldn’t say either of those men have lost their looks,” said Audrey.
“You need to look like the weight of the world has pummeled your face, that’s when the Tony Award nominations come rolling in. I have been cursed with a full head of hair, perfectly taut skin, and eyes that convey a youthful vigor.”
Audrey stood up and walked over to the bed, pulling him into a hug.
“I promise you—you will look old and gnarled one day.”
“I’ve done my time as Marius, I’m ready to be Jean Valjean,” Hillary said dejectedly as he rested his head on Audrey’s shoulder.
Seeing Hillary so disappointed, and Clara so hormonal and emotional, Audrey realized both her support columns were wobbly. If she wobbled too, the whole roof might come down.
“Not to be insensitive about all this, but Audrey does need to walk up the aisle in a few hours, and you are kind of messing up her hair,” Clara said, attempting to disentangle Hillary’s arms.
Clara tucked Hillary into Audrey’s bed and made him a cup of chamomile tea. He claimed, only a little overdramatically, that he couldn’t be alone right now. Clara made him promise not to get in the way or make any unhelpful comments about Audrey’s wedding look. Then she instructed Audrey to put on the dress before she did her makeup. Audrey raised her hands above her head so that Clara could carefully lift the dress over her. The feel of the silk against her skin gave Audrey a strangely sensuous thrill.
“Virginal white?” asked Hillary, peering over the edge of his teacup and raising one eyebrow.
“Didn’t we just say no running commentary?” said Audrey.
Hillary pinched his lips closed and hugged his chamomile tea. Then, as Clara pulled the dress down over Audrey’s hips, all three of them heard a terrible ripping sound. Both women locked eyes with each other. Clara darted around to look at Audrey’s backside.
“Oh shit, oh shit!”
“What is it?” Audrey squealed.
“The whole back seam, it’s ripped wide open.”
Hillary let out a high-pitched squeak before clapping a hand firmly across his mouth and spilling his entire cup of tea over the bed.
23
Six Years Before I Do
Once Benedict moved in, Audrey tried to get out of the house as much as possible, but there was only a certain number of hours she could spend in the library or in Clara’s dorm room.
“No boyfriend on the scene, then?” Benedict asked her one morning over breakfast.
Audrey pulled her arms up inside her T-shirt awkwardly. She’d taken to wearing baggy clothes around the house.
“Audrey’s saving herself for Brad Pitt,” Vivien said when it became clear Audrey didn’t intend to answer his question.
“Ew, Brad Pitt’s in his fifties,” Audrey said, eyeing Benedict with loaded disapproval.
“If I could only have my time again.” Benedict sighed, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs out in front of him so they nudged Audrey’s. “Never was a truer adage uttered than that youth is wasted on the young.”
“I agree.” Vivien sighed. “Books can wait, darling, you should be out there enjoying yourself.”
Audrey bit back all the comments she wanted to make, about her mother’s having had enough fun for both of them. Instead, she hid behind her copy of New Scientist, missing Brian with a fierceness she found hard to control.
On the plus side, Vivien seemed happy again—she was back in rehearsals for a new play, not drinking so much in the evenings, going to Pilates, and seeing her therapist. Plus, Audrey had to concede that Benedict genuinely appeared to care for her mother. He bought Vivien tickets to concerts he thought she would like, he read New Yorker articles aloud to her in the evenings, and she often heard them laughing together. He was gregarious in a way Brian had never been, and Vivien was clearly smitten. She walked with a new lightness about the house. Objectively, if Audrey took herself and Brian, and the desecration of a marriage, out of the equation, she could see they were a good match. So she decided to endure his presence in their lives. She comforted herself with the knowledge that this couldn’t be a permanent arrangement. Benedict lived in New York—he had an apartment there, a teenage son, a life. This was a rebound arrangement. Surely, he would have to go home soon.