At least, I had proof that he was in a hotel in Times Square right this minute, when he claimed to be in Cleveland. I couldn’t tell him that, though. If I confronted him with the evidence, he’d know I was tracking his phone, and I wanted to be able to keep doing it.
Jason sighed, like I was the one causing trouble. “Enough drama, babe. It’s late. I’ll do my best to get to your party, okay? But no promises. You need to cut me some slack. Things are complicated at work right now.”
He was lying to me, and I knew it, but he refused to own up to it. What more could I do?
“Caroline?”
“I have to go,” I said, and hung up on him.
I sat there on the sofa, too stunned to cry. It was like I aged twenty years in the space of that one phone call. I hadn’t realized until right that minute that I wasn’t little Caroline Logan anymore, with my high ponytail, my cute figure, my cheerleader outfit. I was middle-aged Caroline Stark, semi-unemployed housewife, empty nester. And my husband was cheating on me.
4
At seven sharp the band began to play. They were set up in a tent on the lawn, to one side of the swimming pool. The music floated on the ocean breeze as the waiters dashed in and out in white jackets, passing trays of chili-lime shrimp and glasses of rosé. I grabbed a glass off a tray and thought, I ought to be enjoying myself. This is my big night. I can’t let Jason ruin it for me. Easier said than done. He hadn’t shown up yet, and I couldn’t stop watching the door.
In the living room, I took up position in front of the sweeping wall of windows that looked out over the ocean. I wore a white dress to match the décor. I could turn in one direction and watch the waves crash. Or turn in the other for a view across the double-height living room to the front door, where guests were arriving, stepping out of their shiny cars and tossing their keys to the valet. I’d been a little worried that nobody would come, that they wouldn’t drive out from the city this late in September. But they were showing up in droves. Everybody but the person I was waiting for.
Each time the front door opened, I looked up and plastered a smile on my face so big I felt like my cheeks would crack. And each time, when it wasn’t my husband, I had to take a deep breath to fight off the panic. I made excuses about Jason’s absence to the guests as we hugged and air-kissed. Important deal, flight delay, missed connection, on his way, yada yada yada. I hate to lie, but I do believe in putting on a good face for company. I couldn’t bring myself to tell the world that I didn’t know where my own husband was. All I knew was that, with every second that passed, I got angrier, and more insecure, and more hurt.
The guests were too polite to comment on Jason’s absence, until my sister Lynn walked in with her husband, Joe. God love her, Lynn’s a loudmouth, like all the Logans, but she’s not mean. Just oblivious. She’s the one sibling I’m close with now. Among the living, that is. It’s a long story, but let’s say we’ve had our troubles as a family. Out of three boys and three girls, I was the youngest. Two of the boys died young—one on a motorcycle, the other with a needle in his arm. My parents were hard livers, and they passed it down. Then we fell out over Dad’s will. It was ugly. Me and Lynn on one side, Erin and Pat Junior on the other. Mom was dead by then, thank God, she didn’t have to see it. That fight brought me closer with Lynn. She’s the one person I truly trust in this world other than my daughter. She doesn’t fit in with my uptown crowd, with her spray tan and her tight clothes. But like I always tell her, you do you, babe. I love Lynn to death, and I wouldn’t’ve dreamed of throwing a party without her.
“Where’s that handsome husband of yours?” Lynn asked, in a booming voice that made the other guests turn to look. She still talked with that old Lawn Guyland brogue, too, that I’d worked hard to get rid of, and that was nails-on-a-blackboard to everybody else in that room.
“Flight delay.”
“Yeah, right. Too good to show up for his own party is more like it.”
“Somebody has to pay for the house.”
“Ahright, I’ll zip it. But when I see him, I’m giving him a piece of my mind. Now, which way is the bar?”
Lynn started a trend by asking about Jason. The next guy through the door was Peter Mertz, Jason’s boss at the hedge fund, and instead of nodding politely when I said Jason was running late, he started probing. Why wasn’t Jason in New York? Why was he stuck in Cleveland? When I said he was there on a deal, Peter raised an eyebrow and said, Really? Really?—like he didn’t believe me. He basically implied that Jason was lying, or else I was. And yes, okay, it so happened that we both were lying. But that didn’t make it any less rude for Peter to call me on it in front of my guests.
After that, I couldn’t stand there watching the door any longer. I made an excuse and went out to the tent. Fresh air, fresh alcohol. But I couldn’t get that encounter out of my mind. Was Peter trying to tell me something by calling me out like that? Did he know something I didn’t, or more precisely, something I suspected but was praying was not true? In other words, did he know my husband was having an affair? Did everyone know but me? My cheeks were burning at this point. I felt humiliated. But little did I know, the festivities were just getting started.
I’m an experienced hostess, and I normally wouldn’t drink at my own party. But as time went by, and Jason still didn’t show, I guess I had a few more than I intended. By the way, I was drinking the signature cocktail of the night, a Moscow mule, which the caterer offered passed on trays. So, when the waiters walked by, I’d grab one. What I’m saying is, I don’t recall going up to the bar in the tent that night. Not once. Aidan tended bar at my party. I found that out later, but I didn’t know it at the time. I never saw him there, and I certainly didn’t hire him myself. Caterers bring their own staff. Everybody knows that.
Anyway, Jason.
I was talking, probably too loudly, to this woman who was a contributing writer for Dwell magazine, when Lynn walked up and snatched the drink right out of my hand.
“Hey!”
“Excuse us,” Lynn said to the woman, and yanked me away.
“What the hell. I was networking.”
“You’re not doing yourself any favors, getting sloppy at your own party. But at least now I know why.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Jason’s here, and he’s with a woman. A real piece a’ work, too.”
The room went dark. I had to grab Lynn’s arm to steady myself. Everything had been so normal until two nights ago. And now my life was in smoldering ruins around me.
“Where?” I asked.
“Inside, in the living room.”
“Since when?”
“A few minutes. Why didn’t you tell me he’s having an affair? You know I’d go after that son of a bitch.”
“He actually brought someone here? To my house, to my party? I can’t believe he’d do that to me.”
“I’ll have Joe deck him if you want. Or I’ll do it myself.”
“No. You stay here. Distract people. They can’t know about this.”
“It’s
