Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2) (33 page)

I’m sitting on Dena’s couch
across from her and drinking chamomile tea. My new therapist says that I should not only take my Lithium but also do things in my everyday life to help my mood. So, since January 1
st
, I’ve been cycling every day for thirty minutes at my new health club. I’m also taking yoga. I go to Mass every Sunday and confession every Thursday. I’ve joined a book club in my new home state of Maryland and I attend it with my mother-in-law. (By the way, I’m married.) And, I drink chamomile tea for its relaxation properties. Oh and I’m in the planning stages of trying to open up my own gymnastics school. I guess you can say that I’m trying not to have another episode like I had last Christmas. I’m keeping busy and staying healthy.

“So where is
it going to be?” I ask Dena.

“They haven’t said, they’ve just hired limo
s to pick everyone up and take us there.”

“What’s the big secret? They’re getting married, why it the venue so hush-hush?”
I ask as I fold my leg under me and glance around. I’ve always loved Dena and Nat’s condo. They, along with Winnie and Jacob, live in the same building as Malcolm. So many nights Dena and I would have sleepovers while the guys were in one of their offices working. Sometimes Winnie would join us (when she wasn’t with Jacob’s sisters) and it all just felt right. We were a sorority of three, eating king crab legs, dipping them in garlic butter and washing it down with chardonnay. We’d sit in someone’s kitchen, open all the blinds and let the Boston night shine in on us. Sometimes we’d open the windows so that we could hear the commotion below and when it was cold outside, we’d still open them but open the oven as well and crank it up to four hundred degrees. I miss those days. Things are different in Maryland, where I now live.

“They have to be careful. A
lot of people are in town for election night, a lot of supporters and crazies.” She gives me a look. “Sorry, I know how much you hate that word.”

“Shut up Dena.” We smile at each other and take a sip of our tea.

I’m in town for the presidential festivities here in Boston … and the wedding. The Republicans are holding their celebratory events here, with everyone in town for the watch party tomorrow night. We all want to be here to see my father become America’s next president and of course we all want to attend Malcolm’s wedding. Actually, my reason for coming isn’t so much as a want than a need. There was no way I couldn’t be seen at Malcolm’s wedding. How would that look? Yeah, we’re all still about appearances.

“I guess they just
don’t want any unnecessary hoopla around their day.”

“Then why have it during the biggest time of the year
?” Please, Malcolm likes media attention; he likes to be in the news, that much is obvious. The recent YouTube videos of him hugging old ladies, attending rap concerts and spending quality time with his future stepson, prove that he likes the positive press. He wants to be seen … but only on his terms. That’s why he’s tried to shut me up.

“Everyone will be here
for the watch party; it doesn’t make sense to make them all fly back in town for the wedding.” Dena shrugs.

“Well
, the bells are a romantic touch.” I drift my eyes out of a window and look at Boston in autumn. It’s a beautiful sight, almost ethereal. “Such a beautiful time of year for Malcolm to arrange a wedding.” I blow on my tea.

“There you go.” Dena shakes her head.

“What?”

“You’re romanticizing Malcolm and Danielle’s relationship again.
Didn’t your therapist tell you to stop doing that?”

“All I said was
that the bells are romantic, it was a nice touch on his part.” The news informed Boston that the city would hear church bells chiming all day. The chiming would be coming from both St. Michael’s Catholic Church, the church that the Rouge’s attend, and St. Paul’s Catholic Church, the church that the Blairs attend. They were sounding their steeple bells at the top of each hour in celebration of Danielle and Malcolm’s impending marriage tonight. The news reported that Malcolm arranged top of the hour bell chiming for their churches here in Boston, the steeple bells of the church at St. Bernadette’s Boarding School and those of St. Mark’s Catholic Church in Baton Rouge, the homeland of the Rouges. “It’s a sweet touch for Malcolm to arrange church bells to ring at the same time all over the country.”

“Four bells, Laura. Just four bells.”

“It’s romantic.” I say before taking a sip of my tea. Dena rolls her eyes and shakes her head again. “Well, it is!”

“They’re not perfect, they have their problems. Every couple in the world has problems.”

“Well their marriage will certainly be more romantic than mine.”

“What are you talk
ing about? Your wedding was positively breathtaking.”

“Then wait until tonight.” I take a
nother sip of my tea.

“Oh Laura, just stop it.”

My father was livid that the media found out about my ‘moods’ and therefore has refused to talk to me since last December. He claims that if I hadn’t of acted silly last Christmas, he wouldn’t have to devote so much of his campaign to mental health awareness. He refused to pay for my wedding. So Malcolm did.

Malcolm arranged for me to marry Lorenzo
Gallo, a member of the up and coming Gallo family in Maryland. They’re new money. I’ll admit that Loren (as I call him) and I have some things in common. He’s average height, slim and has nice dimples. He’s also Italian, as am I, so we cook spaghetti together, own a small vineyard and he’s teaching me how to speak Italian. I’ll admit, I’ve been slow to warm with him but he’s been patient with me. He hasn’t even required me to sleep with him yet and we’ve been married since March. He’s kind. He’s nice-looking. He’s funny. He’s using me. Loren needed to marry into a more established politico family in order to get any further in his career as a State Senator. But I’m using him too. He has a lot of money and I need money. I also needed a husband and eventually I’ll need kids. But we don’t mention that. I don’t mind being around him and I’ve actually caught myself looking at my watch around the time that he’s due home from work. Of course, he’s a lawyer. His family is huge and loud and we all live next door to each other. We drink wine, make our pasta sauce from scratch, bake bread in the oven and talk really loud. Laura Rossi-Gallo is very Italian now. She did not become Danish.

The marriage contract and pre
-nup that Malcolm drew up protected me from hurt and harm. He actually played hardball with the Gallo family:
You’re marrying a Rossi, don’t worry about that clause over there, just sign the damn papers.
I come out on top if I ever decide to leave Loren or if Loren decides to leave me. 60/40 is what will be awarded to us; I get 60% of everything and Loren gets 40%. That’s practically unheard of since Loren is the one who’s walking into the marriage with money and I’m just walking in with my last name. But in the end, Malcolm told them that I’d get 60% or Loren wouldn’t get a bride. In the end, Loren wanted a bride more than he wanted to keep his money. My marriage to Loren is safe but it isn’t romantic. There were no church bells ringing during my wedding day. It’s Danielle who has church bells ringing for her.

“I think there wi
ll always be a part of me that–”

“Laura, we’re not going to talk about Malcolm.” Dena gives me her stern look. “That part of your life is over.”

I nod, she’s right.

That night
last December, when I went to Italiano’s to talk to Danielle, I waited outside for a half hour, only to discover that Malcolm had snuck her out of Italiano’s. I knew right then and there that he found out about me somehow. The last words I heard, before I ran in absolute terror back to my hotel, was
Listen, they’re gone. They’re not here and they didn’t say goodbye. I tried.
Malcolm was onto me. I went into my suite to find Dena still asleep with Evan sleeping nearby. I went into the bedroom, committed to staying up all night. I just knew Malcolm would be coming for me. I had my bags packed to get out of town the next morning. But I took a Lithium to settle my nerves and fell asleep. The rest is history.

I was taken to a Bo
ston psych ward where I stayed for seventy-two hours. While I was there, Malcolm emptied my PO Box, safe deposit box and even went back to my burned home to see if there was anything salvageable. I actually slept the entire time I was in the psych ward. Guess how surprised I was when I opened my eyes and saw Malcolm standing by my bed, looking out of a window. On the bedside table next to me were four golden ladies. They were dark, some were burned but he had salvaged four gymnastics trophies. Either he or Lola may have burned my house down but at least he saved some of my trophies. (Everyone says Lola burned it down, I think Malcolm did it but no one has proof.)
He’s been coming here checking on you for three days,
I heard a nurse say from the side of me. Malcolm turned around and didn’t say a word. He promptly walked out once he saw that I had recovered from that overdose. I was released from the hospital and remained a prisoner of sorts in my parent’s home. The next time I saw him, I was in my father’s study, signing a marriage contract and pre-nup in front of him. He was now my lawyer. My mother informed me that the marriage and move to Maryland would be beneficial for both families and if my father was elected president, she’d be nearby in DC. What did I have to lose?

“I can’t believe that I’m going to see him tonight.” I say.

“And everything will be fine.” Dena raises an eyebrow at me over her tea cup.

“His wedding will be the closure I need.”

“It will be. And we’ll smile and hug and talk to each other while fixing stray pieces of each other’s hair. And the cameras will get it all and comment on how lovely we get along.” Dena gives me a fake, peppy smile. I nod my head in understanding. Tonight, I’m going to see Malcolm again and he’ll be a married man.

Malcolm

9:30 p.m.

             
“How long am I expected to stay here?” Jon walks up to me and asks. He looks hot under the collar. That’s understandable; the ballroom is filled with Republicans, feminists, conservative Democrats, Danes and French-speaking Creoles. Not exactly Jon and Marla’s crowd.

             
“We need you to stay all night, that was the deal you made with Red. You stay all night and Nicky spends the night at your place on Christmas Eve.” I say, giving him an ‘I’m about to tell Red on you’ look.

             
“Look, they took pictures, I gave an interview, I said my congrats, I’m done.”

             
“I’m having fun, Jon.” Marla says as she tightens her arm around his.

             
“Marla’s having fun Jon.” I say as I wink at her. She smiles. Jon glares at me.

             
“It’s a new crowd.” She looks around the ballroom that’s filled with tuxedos, ball gowns, crystal, candles, waiters in tuxes, a jazz band with a jazz girl singing, ice sculptures, piles of food, bottles of wine, hundreds of scotch glasses, senators, governors, congressmen, mayors, the current president of the United States, the Vice President, and of course lawyers and lawyers and more lawyers. After all, this is Boston, everyone’s a lawyer.

             
“I’m tired of answering questions, I’m tired of taking pictures and I’m tired of wearing this damn tie.” Jon says. Jon’s complaining but he really is being a good sport. He hates me, everyone knows that, yet he’s here pretending to be supportive. He’s become the hot topic on the Boston scene with his new tech firm and the Fortune 500 clients he’s acquiring. His firm is bringing big money into Boston so the media is intrigued with him. Add the fact that his ex-wife is now with me and his popularity has soared. Jon unfortunately isn’t one who likes attention but he’s handling tonight with style. I heard him outside an hour ago giving an interview:

“Danielle knows how to pick ‘em”, He smiled at the interviewer, “so I’m sure she and Blair will enjoy their marriage. And no, there are no hard feelings between Blair and me. We’re two men who happen, uh
happened
, to love the same woman. Happens every day.”

Jon happens to be a terrible interviewer but I’m sure Boston got the message. Also, he didn’t just do this so that Nicky will wake up in his condo on Christmas morning. I know that h
e did this for Red’s sake, since the media was giving her grief about her ex-husband, questioning if we were a friendly bunch. The fight in New York came up … which I knew it would. So he came as an apology to Red; you gotta give it to Jon. He’s attending the reception of a woman that I know he still loves. I’m sure this is harder than he’s making it look. Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t like him, but his respect level is raised a notch in my book.

Not to mention that he never revealed his legitimate copy of the divorce decree. I don’t have to like him but I respect him.

“Jon, come on.” Marla says with a smile. It’s a shame a nice girl like Marla fell for such a dick like Jon.