Page 62 of In This Together

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ROSALIE

‘Here she is, finally,’ said Clarissa as she stood from her seat at a table in Astor Court.

Rosalie didn’t miss the way Clarissa smiled in her direction, then rolled her eyes in the direction of the other two women now standing at the round table.

Clarissa, Madeleine, Kaitlin and Rosalie had been frequenting the St Regis dining room for years, always enjoying brunch in the luxury of high painted ceilings, fine tapestry and impeccable service.

The hotel had become something of a staple institution in their years of friendship. Kaitlin had stayed in the presidential suite the night before her first – no, second – wedding. Madeleine had been conceived on the balcony of one of the suites – something her mother was happy to discuss publicly, given Madeleine’s father was merely the first of a string of husbands. Clarissa had spent months at the hotel playing mistress to a Russian oligarch who introduced her to bondage – a passing fad that secured her own adult wealth when she threatened to disclose his many indiscretions to the world and landed herself a seven-figure confidentiality arrangement.

And Rosalie? Yes, it was true, she knew the interiors of the finest rooms at the hotel. She had been introduced to flings and boyfriends in the King Cole bar over a glass or two of champagne. She had even woken up to find one of everything from the breakfast menu had been ordered for her after a night of lovemaking, though her date had already left the building.

But the truth was, those days were behind Rosalie now. She was in her thirties and wanted to move on to the next phase of her life. No more one-night stands with insanely wealthy men, when their wealth was her sole motivation. No more status flings with musicians that were sure to make the gossip rags. No more meaningless relationships. No more being dumped because she wasn’t responsible enough, apparently.

She wanted and needed more in her life. The way Andrea had an amazing, all-consuming career, Hannah had a beautiful family.

Rosalie was going to become a mommy, with responsibility for something bigger than shopping and casual relationships. She was going to have a little human to love and be loved by, whom she could mould into a fine young lady or a handsome young man. She would impart her wisdom on them. People would say things like, ‘Ros is such a good mom’ and, ‘That child is a credit to Rosalie.’ Her friends and parents would be proud of her because she’d achieved something incredible. She would have someone to share all the love inside her that could be spared. Someone to fill her lonely days, be there to talk to always, to fill her empty apartment with noise and unconditional love. She was going to run a record label and demand respect.

The eye-rolling and gossiping were beneath her now.

The maître d'hôtel took Rosalie’s short crepe jacket and showed her to the table, where she was air-kissed European style by Clarissa, whose voluminous yet sleek blonde locks engulfed Rosalie.

‘What is that scent, Clarissa? You smell divine,’ Rosalie said.

Clarissa flicked her hair back across her shoulder, displaying this season’s Chanel pearls around her neck as she retook her seat and said, ‘The latest treat from my beau.’

Madeleine stepped forward to Rosalie, performing the perfunctory greeting ritual and whispered, ‘Another Russian. Probably staying in Trump Tower for free.’

Rosalie couldn’t help but smirk. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Maddie,’ she said, taking a step back to admire her friend’s tailored pink dress with cream neckline and matching cream gloves à la Audrey Hepburn. ‘This dress…’ was all Rosalie could manage because Madeleine did not look like Audrey Hepburn in a garden of blossom trees; she looked like a giant marshmallow that was wearing gloves when it was expected to reach eighty-four degrees out.

It didn’t matter because Madeleine finished the rest of the sentence in her own mind, gushing with pride. ‘Oh, Rosalie, thank you. You always do know the right things to say.’

For a woman whose education must have cost her parents a small fortune, Madeleine really was just a little bit dumb.

Kaitlin’s greeting came next – the red widow. Kaitlin had lost two husbands before she’d reached her thirtieth birthday. One went to a stroke and the other to a freak helicopter incident – both of whom left her a healthy proportion of their estates, pissing off their children who, in both instances, were older than Kaitlin. As far as Rosalie was aware, the third husband was still alive and kicking – for now.

Rosalie was the only one of the four women taking a seat and being tucked under the table by waitstaff in unison who had never been married. This was something the others liked to gloat about. Occasionally – like, every time she left these girls and felt strangely deflated, down on herself even, without truly knowing why – Rosalie would wonder if there was something wrong with her. She knew she wasn’t ugly and she kept herself in decent shape. She enjoyed the finer things in life and dressed the part. So why had no man ever stuck around long enough to propose to her? Amongst these women, she felt like a failure in the romance department. In fact,allof her friends, with the exception of Andrea, had been married, and the lucky ones, like Hannah, were still happily married.

Without needing to be asked, a waiter brought a round of the hotel’s famous Bloody Marys from the King Cole bar and set them down around the table. No brunch at the Regis was complete without a Bloody Mary.

Rosalie sipped her drink, resigned to having just the one because she wanted to have a clear head for her meeting later with Lance.

‘Your problem is,’ Clarissa had once told Rosalie, ‘you expect too much from them. The kind of men we need don’t want a friend or an equal, Rosalie, they want control. That’s what we have to give them. In return, we get to live the lives we want and when they leave, they give us a big fat cheque for letting them indulge in their egocentric ways.’

Rosalie remembered this as she looked around the tables of wealthy people and thought that her friends were the elite of high-class hookers.

‘Ladies, raise your Bloody Marys because we are celebrating,’ Kaitlin said.

Rosalie raised her glass, thinking about her last lunch with Hannah and Andrea in Brooklyn and how they had celebrated new relationships, new jobs and Billboard successes.

Then Kaitlin said, ‘Maddie hasfinallygotten rid of those ashy tones.’ She turned to Madeleine, gently touching her refreshed blonde waves. ‘I’m so happy for you, sweetie. It’s been such a torrid three months for you.’

Rosalie watched as Maddie pursed her lips and leaned her head to one side. ‘Aww, Katy-bear, you’re the sweetest. It has been awful and I’m so happy to finally feel like myself again.’

Sipping her drink, Rosalie wondered what on earth she was doing here. Her life was shoes and clothes and men with these women. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t what she wanted any more. And it wasn’t how she’d been brought up.

Her parents had been married for more than thirty years. They’d loved and respected each other. She wanted that. She wanted more than hair and shoes. Than being able to choose the best-looking men, who turned out to be idiots. She wanted to sit at a table and feel proud to talk about her business investments and a husband she loved, a child she adored.

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