Page 85 of The Attic on Queen Street
“What else did he say, Rebecca? Anything I need to know?”
I could tell she was wavering, desperately torn between her loyalty to Marc and her loyalty to her family. But only one of us was cheating on her.
“As the future godmother to Peanut and as a family member?” I hadn’t meant to lower myself and play that card, but Marc and his machinations always brought out the worst in me.
She looked around the bustling lobby, at the shoppers and tourists and hotel guests strolling unhurriedly in front of us, blissfully unaware of the personal drama unfolding on the bench in the corner.
Lowering her voice, she said, “He told me that the success of the film wouldn’t matter, that we wouldn’t need your financial support. That we would be free from all of our debts and any obligation we’d have to you and Jack.”
I sat up, the pastries I’d eaten sitting like a ball of raw cookie dough in my stomach. With a voice that sounded a lot calmer than I felt, I asked, “Did he tell you what it was?”
She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure it has something to do with anold painting that he seemed excited about, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else. He put it in his office so I don’t have to look at it. Maybe it’s a newly discovered Rembrandt or something. I don’t know and I’m tired of asking. To be honest, I’m okay with him taking charge. Growing a baby is hard work, and I’m just so exhausted, I can hardly think.”
“Try growing two while working full-time,” I muttered.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Nothing important. Do you think you could snap a picture of it on your phone and send it to me? Maybe I can help you figure it out.”
“Seriously, Melanie? I may have pregnancy brain, but I haven’t completely lost a grip on my senses. If you want to see it, you should ask Marc. But I’m pretty sure he’s keeping it under wraps for a reason.”
“Maybe I will.” I took another sip of coffee and pretended to think. “Off topic—do you know if Marc surfs any treasure-hunting blogs or websites?”
“Oh, definitely. He says it’s his favorite hobby.”
“Me, too! I guess the whole diamonds-in-my-clock thing started it. It’s something to do when I can’t sleep. I haven’t seen Marc’s name, though. Does he use a handle? Like Blackbeard, maybe?”
“Blackbeard?” she said, then laughed. “No. I told him he should use a name that was uniquely him.”
I ran through all the names I remembered seeing in the various blogs and chat rooms I’d been browsing over the past weeks, trying to come up with any that made me think of Marc Longo, and drew a blank. “Like what?”
“Jonathan Goldsmith.”
I might have blinked a few times. “I’m sorry—who is Jonathan Goldsmith?”
“Marc picked it because it takes a person of a matched intellect to understand it.”
“You mean like a third grader?” I said it before I could stop myself. There was only so much swallowing my words that I could take.
She didn’t seem offended. “You and Jack just don’t understand Marc.That’s why you don’t get along. Marc just operates on a separate intellectual plane that’s hard for others to understand.”
I wondered for a moment if someone might have spiked her coffee, then settled on the explanation that love could truly be blind. “So who is Jonathan Goldsmith?”
“He’s the actor who played the Most Interesting Man in the World in those beer commercials. Remember? And that issoMarc.”
“Because he likes beer?” I ventured.
“No, Melanie, because he truly is the most interesting, fascinating man on the planet.”
Hearing Marc described that way made my stomach churn, and I was glad we were only a stone’s throw away from the restrooms. “Well,” I said, swallowing back the rising bile, “I guess that’s better than Blackbeard.” I began gathering up our trash to throw it away, making a mental note to go back through all of the blogs and chat groups to find Jonathan Goldsmith to see what he’d been posting.
I took her elbow and helped her stand, then waited as she delicately brushed crumbs from her lap. “So, what are you going to do now?”
Her chin jutted toward me. “The same thing you’re doing. I’m going to fix my marriage, which means I want the sexy-lingerie party. We can still have it in your garden and keep it on the same date. I’m sure Marc will be happy to adjust the filming schedule to accommodate us.”
I looked closely at her just to make sure she hadn’t lost her mind. Her slightly reddened eyes stared calmly back at me. “Rebecca—”
She cut me off. “As I think I’ve already mentioned, you’re really not in the position to give anyone advice on marriage, are you? You promised you’d give me a baby shower, remember?”
