Part 4 (1/2)

Six months ago, Marina had started her period on her fortieth birthday. The moment she woke she wanted to break into a howl of sorrow, but she choked it back as she rose from bed and rushed into the shower. Recently Gerry had been cool, abrupt, even irritated when she talked about her infertility. Their marriage was in one of those distant phases all marriages went through, probably because of problems at the office. Today she and Gerry both had crowded schedules. She needed to ignore her private life and concentrate on her accounts.

Sometimes she and Gerry drove to work in the same car, but he had a meeting elsewhere in the city today, so they drove separately. She was glad, really. She needed to talk to a friend. Christie was busy with a new baby, so she put on her headset and punched in Dara's number.

Dara sounded groggy. ”Marina. What's up?”

”Dara, my period started today.”

”Oh, h.e.l.l. Oh, Marina, f.u.c.king d.a.m.n. I'm sorry. How are you?”

”Not so great. And work is a rat's nest, which actually is not a bad thing. It will keep me from brooding.”

”Good for you, Marina. Positive att.i.tude. Move forward. How are you celebrating your birthday?”

”Oh, forget my birthday.” Marina sped up and pa.s.sed an ancient Toyota dawdling in front of her. Dara's chipper att.i.tude irritated Marina. She needed someone to help her mourn, to help her mark this occasion. Dara remained silent on the other end of the line. ”Gerry hasn't planned a surprise party for me, has he?”

Dara laughed. ”And I would tell you if he had?”

”Because I'm not in the mood for a party. I think I'd just like to get hammered. I'd like to sit down with you and drink tequila and wail.”

”No Gerry?”

”No. We haven't been very close lately. Anyway, he's sick of me blubbering around.”

”Well, honey, if that's what you really want to do, let's do it. Shall we meet at Hoolihan's?”

”Great. No, wait. I'd better ask Gerry if we have plans. I mean, it is my great-big fat fortieth. I'm sure he has something planned. I'm here. Talk to you later.”

”Marina? Listen, honey--I just want to tell you ... I think you're going to be just fine. I think you're a tremendously strong person.”

”Thanks, Dar'. I love you, too.” Marina clicked off.

Later, she would remember her final words to Dara, and they would crash a world of humiliation down on her heart. How had she ever been so blind?

How had she ever been a friend anyone could so easily betray?

There was a surprise fortieth birthday party, thrown at Dara's house. It was a mob scene, with champagne and every other kind of liquor flowing like Niagara Falls, and music pumped up by a DJ and people dancing and getting properly smashed and yelling out all sorts of inappropriate things. In the midst of such revelry, Marina hardly saw Gerry or Dara. She got good and hammered, and she thought her husband had, too, so when Dara insisted they sleep at her place because they were too wasted to go home, Marina accepted gratefully.

Sat.u.r.day morning she awoke in Dara's guest room with a dry mouth and a bad headache. She expected to see Gerry snoring in bed next to her, but she was alone. She pulled on a robe of Dara's over her naked body and shuffled down the hall to the kitchen, toward the smell of coffee.

Gerry and Dara weren't kissing or embracing or even touching. They were sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table, quietly talking.

Yet something about the way they were leaning toward each other slapped Marina wide awake.

She said, ”What's going on?”

Their heads snapped toward her in identical rhythm.

”Marina. You're awake.” Dara stood up, poured a cup of coffee, and put it on the table.

Marina sat down. She took a sip of coffee--it was strong and rich. Dara was a good cook.

She looked at Gerry, whose mouth was pulled tight the way it always got during an argument, especially when he was in the wrong.

Slowly, Marina said, ”I'm not going to like this, am I?”

”I don't know,” Gerry countered. ”You might like it a lot, if you stop to think about it. I want a divorce, Marina.”

She stared at him. They'd been married for ten years. They must have made love a million times. She knew everything about him, how stupid he looked when he was flapping around the office in a tantrum because of something at work, how tender he could be when they were alone together. He was handsome, and he worked hard at it, exercising at a gym, spending lots of time buying clothes and moussing his hair, he was even considering having a face-lift because he needed to keep his image young and fresh. She knew how his older brother's success as a physician overshadowed Gerry, how his parents scarcely saw their younger son because of the blinding light of their older son's brilliance. She'd held Gerry in her arms as he wept bitterly after they spent Christmas with his parents. Her love for him had been the motivation, really, for the fury with which she attacked her own part in their business. She had wanted to protect him.

True, they weren't getting along very well recently. Their time and conversations together revolved around work. He was probably sick of her relentless failures to get pregnant, and for her own part, Marina had to admit she hadn't felt close to him for a long time. Still. To bring up divorce like this, in front of Dara--what was he thinking?

”Gee,” she said snidely, ”nice of you to wait till I had my birthday party to tell me.”

From the other side of the table, Dara spoke up. ”Marina. There's something else.”

Marina turned toward her friend. Christie and Dara had been the first to know when she'd gotten her period, the first to know when she'd lost her virginity, the first to know when she'd fallen in love with Gerry. Marina had been Dara's go-to person during her two marriages and grisly divorces. Dara was a beauty, apple-cheeked and bosomy, sensual and seductive.

Oh.

Gerry had found comfort with Dara. Which was why Gerry was talking in front of Dara.

”You and Gerry,” Marina said flatly.

Dara nodded. ”Yes.” She raised her chin defiantly. ”And Marina, I'm not going to apologize. You're not in love with Gerry anymore. I know that.”

”Really. Did I ever say that?” Marina demanded.

Dara blushed. ”Marina. There's something else.”

”Good G.o.d,” Marina cursed. ”What more could there possibly be?”

Dara's eyes flew to meet Gerry's. Her face became radiant. Her smile was absolutely Mona Lisa.

It felt like a knife slicing through her entire torso. The pain made her breathless. ”You're pregnant.”

”With my child,” Gerry added, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

It was almost dazzling, how quickly Marina's life changed after that. Of course, Gerry and Dara, in their eager selfish joy, had already plotted the path. With Dara's money, Gerry bought out Marina's half of the business. Gerry had already spoken to an agent who had a buyer lined up for Marina and Gerry's condo. With no children or financial issues, the legalities of the divorce were dealt with in a flash.

Suddenly, within a matter of weeks, Marina lost her husband, her work, her home, and one of her very best friends. Most of her current friends were Gerry and Dara's friends, too. They strained to be supportive to Marina without insulting Gerry or Dara, and that just made it difficult for everyone. Marina had to let them go.

Her parents had retired to sunny Arizona. Over the phone, they offered her love and understanding, but they were just a little bit I-told-you-so. They'd never liked Gerry. She saw a couple of therapists, but their advice was what she expected: You have to go through this loss, you can't go around it. The j.a.panese sign for ”crisis” also means ”opportunity.” Their words were not much help in the middle of the night. Cartons of ice cream and old black-and-white movies worked better.

Christie saved her life.

”You've got to get out of town,” Christie advised her. ”Here, you're just mired in misery like an old horse stuck in mud.”