Page 55 of Storm in a D Cup

‘I have to go to the States again the day after tomorrow,’ Julian said out of the blue a few weeks later.

What the hell, you just got back, I wanted to say. And I was just getting back into the swing of things. Why couldn’t he just stay put for a bit and be a husband? And work with me on the baby thing? No. I would not go down that road. ‘New York again?’ I asked, trying to sound neutral.

‘No, Los Angeles.’

Right into Genie Stacie’s den.‘Oh.’

And so after what seemed like only a few hours had gone by, Julian hefted his bag (the one permanently packed in the corner of his office) containing his passport, his American driver’s license and his British driver’s license, a toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving kit, a few changes of boxers and undershirts and socks, legal copyright documents and a copy of his latest novel, but absolutely no condoms. I know because I had a (shhh) snoop in there one morning while he was out in the barn with his horses.

I dropped him off at the airport from where he’d fly to Milan, double parking outside and turning to him bravely. Things were still not going well. With new hopes for a baby rapidly dissolving and Genie Stacie calling at all hours, gnawing at my last shreds of security, and Maddy’s constant ignoring me, I felt like life’s biggest loser. How much longer could I hold out?

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said distractedly, not even turning my way to kiss me. Before I could stop myself, I pulled him in for a sudden kiss. Pathetic of me, I realized immediately.

Because he seemed resigned. Of course he wasn’t going to meet up with Genie Stacie. Just because it was her city didn’t mean—

‘Come on, Julian, we’re going to miss our flight!’ came an unpleasant squeal and my blood froze. Wide-eyed, Julian turned and saw her as she stuck her head in through the car window. ‘Erica, let go of him already, he has to get a move on.’ She giggled as she opened the door and literally dragged him out and his lean figure sauntered toward the entrance doors that slid open, Genie Stacie linking an arm through his and turning back to wave at me.

But I could only stare after them, helpless, like a child being relieved of her candy. What could I possibly do, go after them and beg him not to go?

So I selected first gear and took the highway home, my stomach in shreds, and wondering how long she had been in Tuscany, how was it that she hadn’t dropped in on us and, most important, how she knew he was taking that precise flight on that precise day. I also conjured up all sorts of scenarios of them having dinner, then a few drinks up in his room. She’d use all her charm to get him back, or at least to get him in the sack. Because Genie Stacie thought that sex was the be-all and end-all of it. I pictured Julian as he resisted, once, twice, three times, even. Then he’d finally shrug his shoulders and think what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me.

He would shed his clothes, all the clothes I’d washed and ironed for him, to stand naked, in all his splendor, in front of her. He’d take her in his arms and lift her onto the bed and… I closed my eyes tight and shoved the idea out of my head. My cheeks were wet.

I had loads of ironing to do when I got back, but no will to do it. So to cheer me up, I propped my cell phone on the counter of the laundry room and dialed Paul via speaker phone.

Paul was closer to me than my own brother. Vince and I barely spoke except for at Thanksgiving and during the summer holidays when he brought his family out to stay with us. And even then it was only: ‘So how’s things?/ Good thanks, and you?/ Good, good. The kids have grown./ Yeah, yours, too./ You hungry?/ Yeah./ Let’s go eat.’ That was the extent of my relationship with my younger brother.

But Paul? He was my life coach, my image coach, my stylist, my make-up artist and even my beautician, having waxed the hell out of me several times, including that stubborn hair on my chin, which not even Julian knows about, thank God. I couldn’t even begin to tell you the trouble we used to get into together as if we were primary school students. And to think that we’d met as adults. Well, he was an adult, while I was acting like a baby, crying in a changing room at Macy’s. He’d heard me, picked me up and promised me that life could only get better from there on. So who better than my old Paulie to have a restoring chat with now?

It rang five times before he picked up. ‘Hiya, Sunshine,’ he chirped.

‘Hello, handsome. Still using the old trick of not answering immediately so you’ll look busy?’

‘I am busy. Crazy busy, but I was just about to call you because I’m bursting with some fab news! You are never gonna believe this.’

‘You and Gabriele are getting married?’ I quipped.

‘No, but you’re close. I just got a contract for the celebrity engagement party of the decade! If I can pull it off, the wedding’s mine, too!’

‘Paulie! That’s great! Who is it?’

‘Promise me you won’t tell. Because, as per contract, I am not allowed to say a single thing. But you, I trust. And if you can’t keep your mouth shut, you’ll owe me a gazillion dollars.’

‘Promise. Who am I going to tell?’

‘Not even Julian, OK?’

‘I said I promise. Now who’s your filthy rich bride?’

‘Genie Stacie Grant.’

I almost dropped my iron. ‘Genie Stacie?’

‘I know! And I have you and Julian to thank. Remember she doesn’t want anyone to know – you least of all.’

This made no sense. ‘But… but… who is she marrying?’

‘That’s the thing! I’m not allowed to know until she gives the go-ahead.’

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