Public Secrets

tone friendly.
“I … wanted to come.”
“Really?” Marianne opened her purse and tossed a balled-up tissue inside. Her anger with Emma was like that, she thought. Balled up and frayed. “I didn’t think you had time for old friends anymore.”
“Marianne—” She couldn’t break down right here. There were still reporters close enough, watching her, snapping pictures. Drew was going to see the pictures, of her and Marianne together. Then he would know she lied. She cast desperate looks over her shoulder. “Can I … I need …”
“Are you all right?” Marianne tipped down her sunglasses and studied Emma’s face. “Christ, you look terrible.”
“I’d like to talk with you, if you have a few minutes.”

“I’ve always had a few minutes,” Marianne retorted. She dug in her purse for a cigarette. “I thought you were going straight back.”
“No.” She took a deep breath, and stepped over the line. “I’m not going back at all.”
Through the haze of smoke, Marianne’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I’m not going back,” Emma repeated, and was terrified when her voice began to hitch. “Can we go somewhere. Please. I have to go somewhere.”
“Sure.” Marianne stuck a hand under Emma’s elbow. “We’ll take your limo. We’ll go anywhere you like.”
It took only a short time to reach Marianne’s hotel, which, when Emma began to shake, was the best place Marianne could think of to take her. They went straight up to the suite, a beautiful pastel set of rooms overlooking the crowded white sand and blue water. Marianne had already made the space hers by tossing articles of clothing over every available chair. She scooped up the sweatshirt and slacks she had traveled in, gestured for Emma to sit, then went to the phone.
“I want a bottle of Grand Marnier, two cheeseburgers, medium, a basket of fries, and a liter of Pepsi in a bucket of ice. I got twenty bucks for the guy who gets up here in fifteen minutes.” Satisfied, she swept her running shoes off another chair and sat. “Okay, Emma, what the hell’s going on?”
“I’ve left Drew.”
Not quite ready to forgive, she stretched out her legs. “Yes, I think I picked up on that, but why? I thought you were deliriously happy.”
“Yes, I’m very happy. He’s wonderful. He takes such good care …” She heard her own voice and trailed off with a kind of panicked disgust. “Oh God, sometimes I actually believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“What he’s trained me to say. Marianne, I don’t know who else I can talk to. And I think if I don’t say it right here and right now I never will. I wanted to tell Johnno. I started to, but I just couldn’t.”
“All right.” Because Emma looked much too pale, Marianne rose and opened the balcony doors. Sea air fluttered in. “Take your time. Is it another woman?” Marianne said nothing, just watched as Emma began to rock back and forth and laugh.

“Oh Christ, sweet Christ.” Before she could stop, the laughter had turned to sobs, great wrenching sobs. Moving quickly, Marianne knelt beside her to take her hands.
“Easy, Emma. You’re going to make yourself sick. Hey, hey. We all know most men are bastards. If Drew’s been unfaithful, you just kick him out.”
“It’s not another woman,” Emma managed.
“Another man?”
She struggled, sucking in the tears. Afraid if she let them fall too freely she’d never be able to stop. “No. I have no idea if Drew’s been unfaithful, and I don’t care.”
“If it’s not another woman, what did you fight about?”
“We didn’t fight,” Emma said wearily. “I didn’t fight.” She hadn’t known it would be so hard to say, so hard to admit. The words were like a fist lodged in her throat, heated with shame. Taking deep breaths, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Sitting here, I can almost believe I imagined it all, that it wasn’t as bad as I thought while it all happened. He could be so sweet, Marianne, so considerate. I remember how he’d bring me a rose in the morning sometimes. How he’d sing—when it was just the two of us—how he’d sing as though I were the only woman in the world. He said he loved me, that all he wanted was to make me happy, to take care of me. And then I would do something—I hardly know what—but something, and then he would … He beats me.”
“What?” If Emma had said that Drew sprouted wings and flew off the terrace every afternoon, it would have been easier to believe.