Perpetual

I risk a glance at Parker as we walk to one of the tables. My stomach drops. Everything about his expression, walk, and posture emanates anger. I want to apologize to him, tell him how awful I am for using him like this. But I doubt it would do anything other than make him even angrier right now. So I ask myself, as I often do when I am around James… what was I thinking? Parker doesn’t deserve this. The frostiness between us as he pulls out my chair for me raises the hair at the nape of my neck. To my dismay, James sits on the other side of the round table. I wanted him to see me with Parker, but I didn’t expect to have to face him the entire evening. I’m not prepared for this. Not that he’s looking at me. As the chairs around the table-twelve of them-start filling in, James greets them one by one, and it’s clear he knows most of them. Parker introduces me to everyone politely after doing his own greetings. He doesn’t utter one word to me.
I roll the napkin on my lap and then proceed to closely inspect the carvings on my glass. James sits directly opposite me. The only unoccupied chair at the table is the one next to him. There is no sign of chagrin on his face as he chats with the older man next to him whose name I already forgot. No sign that he’s aware of my presence at all. I strain my ears to hear what his neighbor is saying. I don’t catch anything for a few minutes, then the old man motions to the empty seat. James listens carefully to the man’s next words, then leans back in his seat. A smirk that makes my stomach squirm contours on James’s face as he motions the waiter to pour him white wine.
“She’s just running late,” James says, raising his voice. Just a notch. Enough for his words to reach me. “She’ll arrive any minute.”
And arrive she does. Less than a minute later. Natalie. I knew it would be her, but it still stings like hell. Natalie looks as breathtaking as ever, in a simple, knee-length black dress and sky-high heels. She greets everyone at the table with a nonchalance that makes it clear she knows all of them. Of course she does. She’s part of this world. Her gaze falls on me just as she kisses James on the cheeks.
I clasp a fork in my right hand and stick it in the green souffle in front of me. But I don’t look away from them. I deserve this. This is what happens when I don’t think things through and act impulsively.
Recklessly.
Something I’ve done a tad too often since I met James.
Like Parker, Natalie seems to realize the sole reason James asked her to come here is to make me jealous. But unlike Parker, she doesn’t seem to mind. She flashes a satisfied smile when James whispers something in her ear and I have no choice but to lower my gaze, for fear I will make a complete fool of myself rushing out of the room. I can still hear her sickening, lark-like giggles though.
I force the corners of my mouth to lift in a smile when the lady next to me compliments me on my dress. The evening passes with course after course of exquisite food and copious glasses of wine amid discussions ranging from which charitable cause the next event should focus on to world politics. Except for the charitable part, I find myself quite at ease talking to them. Parker doesn’t as much as look at me the entire time. I keep hoping he will see the show James and Natalie put on as punishment enough and forgive me sooner. I force myself not to stare at James and Natalie, but utterly fail. Whenever he isn’t engaged in a hotheaded conversation with anyone else at the table, all his attention is on Natalie. Like now. He leans in to her as she whispers something in his ear. James chuckles and Natalie blushes violently at his reply.
Someone on the other side of the room taps the microphone then launches into a speech, and everyone focuses their attention in that direction.
Everyone except James. He puts one arm over Natalie’s shoulders, and pulls her closer to him, running his fingers playfully on her neck and cheek. She lavishes in his attention, interlacing her fingers with his. I excuse myself, under the pretense that I need to touch up and run outside just as she leans her head on his arm.
Thankfully, the hall with the cocktail tables is almost empty. Still, I hurry past the tables, willing to find a less open space.
“The bathroom is over there,” someone calls. The girl from the entrance. She’s sitting at one of the cocktail tables, reading a magazine.
“Actually, I was wondering if there’s a backyard here.”
She nods and points to a sign, scrutinizing me with a worried gaze. Is it so obvious that I am one thought away from breaking down? The door to the backyard is not right outside the hall. I follow the signs down a highway-sized corridor and pass a double door, which I suspect leads to another dining room, before I reach my hideout. I lean on the door as soon as I step out onto the terrace and close my eyes.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I wish I could press my palms on my eyes to squelch the little liquid traitors that threaten to come out, but the triple layers of mascara Jess put on my lashes will surely transform my desperate effort into a stamp of shame for everyone to see. My sheer willpower will have to do. I open my eyes and head over to one of the columns on the terrace, leaning on it. I can see the entire backyard from here. It’s beautiful, with row upon row of roses. The sprinklers are on, so I don’t use the stairs leading from the terrace to the backyard. On second thought, maybe getting soaked would be a good idea. It would give me a legitimate reason to leave. I stare at the water drops sprinkling the roses. They remind me of tears. There are no tears on my cheeks, and I should be proud of that. I can’t be, though. The stinging in my chest is far worse without tears. Worse than in my ride home after I left him. Worse than in the nights since, when I wake up crying. Because I’ve had only made-up images of and Natalie and him to torment me. Now I have real ones that my imagination can twist in a never-ending game, creating even worse nightmares about the two of them.
The more I stay like this, leaning on the column, the harder it is to move. I’m too ashamed to leave the restaurant and too cowardly to return to my seat. And apparently too deaf to hear the door opening, because I don’t realize there’s someone else outside, until she’s standing in front of the column nearest to me.
Natalie. Just what I need. Another dose of humiliation.
“Hiding? How very tenth grade of you.” She opens her tiny bag and gets a cigarette and a lighter out of it. Leaning on the column, she lights the cigarette and starts smoking.
“I’m not hiding,” I snap. “I just got a little sick from the food.”
She smirks between smokes. “Poor you. I suppose that’s what happens when you are not used to such fine food.”
“Cut it out, Natalie. I’m in no mood for your condescending bullshit.” I turn my gaze to the backyard, fuming.
“Now, don’t get all offensive, darling. I’m just trying to warn you. Not that you seem to take my warnings seriously. If you had, you wouldn’t be in this pitiful position in the first place.”
“I’m in a pitiful position?” I ask incredulously. “You do know the sole purpose he asked you here was to make me jealous, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I also know that when he gets tired of chasing you, he’ll come back to me, like always. Has it occurred to you why he called me and not someone else?”
My stomach drops. It has. But I don’t want to dwell on that now.
“He will get tired of chasing you, trust me,” she says.
I try to concentrate on the smell of roses emanating from the yard. But it’s too faint. The smell of roses usually has a calming effect on me. Not this time. “What makes you so sure?” My voice is shaking.
“Has he ever told you he loves you?”
My throat tightens painfully. It’s as if she knows which buttons to push to hurt me. I remember his reaction when I told him I loved him at the hospital: his arms stiffening around me, his voice getting colder, and everything that followed.
“That’s none of your business.”
She gives a high-pitched, hateful laugh. How can someone who looks so graceful have such a murderous voice? Something to warn people that she isn’t as doll-like as she appears, I suppose.
“He hasn’t told you. Because he will never love you, Serena. Just because he called you his girlfriend for three days doesn’t mean he wants something serious with you.”
It bugs me how much she knows. Because she couldn’t know this unless James told her. Which means that no matter the superficial reason she’s here tonight, there is a bond between them that goes way beyond her pouring money in his businesses or occasionally jumping in his bed. The patronizing expression on her face tells me she’s thinking the exact same thing. But there’s something else behind the contempt in her eyes. Something different. A flicker of fear or doubt, perhaps?
So I take a wild guess.
“Maybe not. But it’s certainly better than being his perpetual… call girl, always waiting to become more. That’s just pathetic. Haven’t you wondered why he has never called you his girlfriend? In all the years he’s always come back to you? Let me give you some advice, for once. Two words: meaningless sex. That’s the only thing he wants from you. You’ll never be able to keep him.”
My guess pays off. Big time. In a fraction of a second, Natalie’s porcelain skin turns a violent red all the way to the roots of her dark brown hair. Who knew the lark had a weak spot? She slams the door of the terrace so hard on her way in, I’m afraid the wall might collapse.