Picture Perfect Read online

  Besides, I had something that was going to completely take his mind off the movie. I couldn't be entirely sure yet, since I hadn't had time to go to a doctor, and I was only a week late. But still, I had a hunch. I had considered this over and over on the flight home, realizing that Alex was going to have a fit when I told him about the baby, but I'd worked out a dozen scenarios in my mind. In one, he just stood speechless. In another, I said that the best-laid plans don't always work the way you want. In a third, I patiently reminded him that he'd been the one who wanted to play with fire. All the scenes ended the same way, with us curled up together in the window seat, Alex's hand pressed against my stomach, as if he could help me to carry our child.

  I stared at my suitcase, deciding to leave it right there in the parlor, because after all I wasn't supposed to be lifting heavy things. With every step, I heard Alex testing another line, sometimes repeating it with the emphasis on different words: I made these wars for Egypt...She has robbed me of my sword.

  I smiled, thinking of Antony's crisis of masculinity, and then of the news I had for Alex. Drawing in a deep breath, I stepped across the threshold of the bedroom suite. "Hi," I said.

  Alex turned to me, his eyes black with anger. "She has robbed me," he said more slowly, "of my sword." He took two steps toward me, coming to stand perfectly still only inches away. "Well," he demanded, "I suppose you're going to try to explain."

  My mouth dropped open and my arms ached, waiting for a homecoming that did not materialize. "Itoldyou I'd be late," I said. "I called you as soon as I knew." Carefully edging past Alex, I slipped my coat onto a chair. "I thought you'd be happy that I made it home tonight."

  Alex spun me around by the shoulder. "Your plane wasn't late," he said. "I called the airport."

  "Of course it was," I snapped. "Whoever you talked to read the computer wrong. Why in God's name would I lie to you?"

  Alex's mouth tightened. "You tell me."

  I rubbed my temples, wondering what kind of stress Alex had to be under to dream up whatever wild schemes were running through his head. "I can't believe you checked up on me," I said.

  The corner of Alex's mouth tipped up. "Well," he said, "I don't trust you."

  The flat truth of his statement cut through my anger; the strain of a whole week of appearances caught up with me. My eyes filled with tears. This was not the evening I had planned; there would be no late-night snack in bed, no simple touches, no stunned wonder at the life we had created. I stared at Alex and wondered what had happened to the man I knew.

  As soon as the first tears ran down my cheeks, Alex started to smile. He grabbed my shoulders hard. "Which one is it, pichouette?"he said, his voice spilling like silk. "Did you come from some other man's bed? Someone you picked up in Chicago? Or were you just wandering the streets, holding on to your little week of glory, in case failure is catching?"

  I heard in his words how much he hated himself, and even as I was shaking my head I reached toward him, offering me, the only thing I had. Alex caught both of my wrists in one hand and punched me in the side, his chest heaving with the effort. I did not move; I did not even let myself breathe. I simply couldn't believe I was watching this happen, feeling it happen to me. No,I thought, but there weren't any words.

  When he pushed me away from him I hit the edge of a bookshelf, and as I fell to the ground a rain of hardcovers and glass paperweights followed. I scooted backward, trying to get away, but when he kicked me I took the blow in my abdomen, and then rolled to my other side. I covered my face and I tried to make myself as small as possible--so small that Alex would not see me, so small that I could forget myself.

  I knew that it was over only because I heard the sound of Alex's crying over the throb of my body. He touched my shoulder, and God help me, I turned toward him, burying my face against his chest and heaving with sobs, seeking comfort from the person who had caused the pain. He rocked me back and forth in his lap; he whispered that he was sorry.

  When there was nothing left inside me Alex stood up and went into the bathroom. He came back with a washcloth and wiped my face, my nose, my throat. He tucked me under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. When he thought I was asleep he spoke again. "I didn't mean to," he murmured, and his raw voice cracked in the middle. He started to cry again; then he walked into the sitting room and put his fist through a wall.

  WHEN THE BLEEDING STARTED LAST NIGHT, I TOLD MYSELF THAT IT was just my period, and I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered the sentence like a prayer until I believed it was true. And it might have been: I knew nothing about miscarriage, but I wasn't in much pain--although that could have been because I had simply gone numb.

  I allowed myself to think of what might have been a baby only once, when it wasn't even light outside this morning. I decided not to tell Alex. There was no need; he felt awful enough. When he woke up, he lifted the sheets and looked at the swelling marks on my arms and the purple bruise on my stomach. "Don't," I told him softly, touching his cheek, and I watched him leave for the studio under the burden of his own guilt.

  But now he was home again, and we were supposed to go out to a premiere. I turned to Alex, lying on the bed beside me where he had fallen asleep after Ophelia left, his arm possessively draped over my waist. Very gently I lifted his hand, slipping out from underneath him, and I walked into the adjoining sitting room.

  I had cleaned up the books and the paperweights this morning, but I could still see them splayed across the hardwood floor. Mindlessly I sat down on a love seat and picked up the television remote control, switching on the power. On the screen were two misshapen animals, a cartoon. One was beating the other over the head with an anvil. The second one smiled, and then his body shattered and fell away, leaving only a skeleton.

  So,I thought,it is like this everywhere.

  Alex came out a few minutes later and sat down beside me. He kissed me so sweetly that I pictured my heart like that cartoon animal, falling away to leave an aching core. "Will you go with me?" he asked.

  I nodded; I would walk across hot coals and breathe fire if Alex wanted me to. I would give up my soul. I loved him.

  It's hard for you to understand, but I knew it wouldn't happen a second time, because I realized that I was partially at fault. It was my job to keep Alex happy; that was what my vows had amounted to over a year ago. But I had done something wrong, something that upset the balance and pushed him over the edge. I would find out what that was, so he would never feel that way again, so it would never come to this.

  Alex pulled me into the bedroom and helped me into a skintight black dress that was cut out at the shoulders but covered virtually every other part of my body from my neck to my ankles. "You look beautiful," he said, leading me to a mirror.

  I stared at my bare feet, my twitching hands, and at Alex's eyes, which still looked so wounded. You could not see the bruises on me at all. "Yes," I said. "This is fine."

  We arrived at the premiere with twenty other chauffeured cars, and we waited in turn to pull up to the spot where everyone was getting out. Fans and paparazzi had formed two lines leading to the door of the theater, and a couple of reporters were positioned right at the curb, so that their voice-overs could catch the moment the celebrities stepped from their cars.

  It was nothing new; Alex and I had been to many premieres in the past year. He stepped out of the car first, tall and striking in a crisp white shirt and tie. He waved to the crowd, and the sun caught his wedding band, shooting off a bright ray that temporarily blinded me. Then he gently helped me out of the back seat, anchoring his arm around my side, careful to let his hand rest lower on my hip than usual, where it wouldn't hurt.

  It was common procedure to stand there for a moment like a reigning king and queen, so that people could take their pictures and cheer and get a good long look. The entertainment reporter beside me was practically yelling over the crowd that was roaring Alex's name. "Here's Alex Rivers and his wife, Cassandra. Rumor has it thatAntony and Cleopatr