Detox

Chapter 12: Dissolution

If you ever leave me baby,
Leave some morphine at my door,
Cause it would take a whole lot of medication
To realize what we used to have
We don’t have it anymore.
-Bruno Mars (It Will Rain)

Kabuchiko
Shinjuku, Japan
Fall 2002

For a while there is nothing said besides the almost soothing sounds of tinkering dishes being washed in the kitchen and the lively conversation (in Japanese of course) between the chef and his wife. It’s much quieter in the restaurant otherwise, as most of the other patrons have left for the night (morning). I’m not sure if Sheila’s drunk – since the bottle of sake is just about empty, and I’m sure I wasn’t doing much of the drinking – but her head has been down on the table for a while now, making me wonder if I’m boring her with all this. However, a sudden low, but slightly slurred, “So?” has me jerking alert from my mopey stupor.

“What?” I ask; not sure if I heard correctly.

She lifts her head a little, but just enough to place her chin on the table. Her gaze is hooded, but there’s a gleam in her eyes that’s almost angry. “I said, so fucking what?” she repeats. “So you went to a concert with another man, big fucking deal.”

“I don’t -”

“Let me guess, you’re going to say how guilty you felt all night long, and how you couldn’t enjoy the show because you were thinking about Michael and the children and how much you were hurting him, blah, blah, blah.”

She gives an unladylike snort and sits up to reach for the rest of the alcoholic beverage. This time she doesn’t even bother pouring any into her cup. She places the bottle to her lips and drinks thirstily; finishing up with a loud belch that must have been heard at the other end of the damn country.

“Am I right?” she insists annoyingly; now resting her chin on a palm. Her expression is a mixture of drunken amusement and irritation. It’s as if she wants to smack me but not really sure of how to go about it.

I try to hold that gaze; to let her know that her goading won’t do any good. That she is lying and not once throughout that night did I ever feel guilty about what I was doing…

(but you’re lying, aren’t you?)

“Listen to me,” she cuts in before I can even begin to defend myself. “All men are dogs.”

“Michael -”

“Is a dog,” she finishes with a sneer. “The biggest one of them all. He’s a hound dog. Ain’t that what they call ‘em?”

“He’s the one who got you started in this business,” I retort coldly; feeling my hackles rising at what she is trying to insinuate. “He didn’t have to let Jennifer -”

“Yeah, yeah, I owe him my life and my soul, so what? Does he expect me to lick his boots every time he comes walking into a room? I call it like I see it, my dear. You’re the one who’s still wearing those damn rose-colored glasses.”

“You ungrateful…” I take a deep breath and decide not to go there. It was my fault for opening my big fat mouth in the first place. What was I expecting anyway? That she’d be more sympathetic to my plight? Is that what I’m really looking for? Someone to feel sorry for me? I could have easily gone crying to Deja or Sheryl or even Janet, but no, I’m here stuck in this place with this drunken-

“I don’t even know why I’m listening to you,” I hiss coldly. “You were with Joey.” I say his name like I’d describe a cockroach. “Shows your taste in men.”

“Bitch,” she drawls; not even seeming to give a damn that I brought up her dead boyfriend. “Joey was an asshole true, but he was my asshole, and I set him straight whenever he fucked up. What’s your excuse?”

“What’s my -?”

She gives a bitter laugh. “You’re here playing the role of ‘The Good Wife’, while your husband is halfway around the world probably banging some other ex-girlfriend he hung out with back in the day. Rumor is he’s even hanging around that Lisa Marie chick…Elvis’s daughter -”

“Shut up!” The sudden slam of my fist on the table sends some of our dishes rattling, and the noise is loud enough to stop the chatter in the kitchen and for Aoki-san (the chef) to stick his head into our little nook of heaven with a bemused yet concerned expression on his visage.

“Ever-rin-teen oh kay?” he asks in his slightly broken English.

“Everything’s fine,” Sheila replies with a wave of her hand and a slight bow. “She thought she saw a bug and tried to kill it, but it was nothing.”

“Oh…” He doesn’t look too convinced (though I’m sure that the idea of him having bugs in his restaurant might be a problem), still he bows and gives us a tremulous smile before going back to the kitchen. We hear him and his wife converse feverishly for a minute before the tinkering of dishes being washed begins again. Makes me wonder how long we are going to be allowed to remain here-

“Oooh, you heard the rumors, then, eh?” My tormentor continues; her smirk widening.

“It’s a rumor,” I emphasize coldly. “I even met Lisa Marie at the party, and it was just unfortunate that the photographers slash media decided to focus on the one moment Michael kissed her on the cheek. They failed to mention that she and I shared a kiss as well and we talked for a while -”

“Bottom line,” Sheila interrupts rudely. “You’re being too goody-goody two shoes, Stephanie, and he’s taking advantage of you. Ever since that picture of you and Doctor Steamy showed up in the papers -”

“Doctor Maxwell,” I snipe angrily.

“I’m going with what the papers call him.”

“You are such a -”

“Ever since then,” she chips in with a voice tightened with irritation. “The so-called media has been going on and on and on about divorce proceedings and separation plans…is it true?”

It takes an incredible effort to keep my expression neutral; though my head is pounding with a headache that oddly enough makes me want to burst into sudden tears. I can still remember one of the many worried phone calls from my parents…

(is everything okay?)

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I reply calmly; reaching for my cup and wincing inwardly at how much is left in it. I wish it was brimming with sake; that way I can perhaps drink myself into a stupor.

“Here where?”

“In Tokyo, opening a hospital we had worked hard on.”

“Pfft.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

“Everyone might be fooled by your majestic appearance and megawatt smile, but I’ve known you for a long time, Stephanie King -”

“Jackson,” I reply automatically.

(is everything okay?)

“…and I know that behind that smile is a woman who’s at her wit’s end and doesn’t know what the fuck to do.”

“I don’t know-”

“Yes, you do know, goddamn it!” Now it’s her turn to slam her fist on the table, though it’s not as loud as mine, but the expression on her face is one that makes me sit back with mild surprise. It’s definitely anger; but of the frustrated kind. I wouldn’t be shocked if she decided to reach across the table to shake or toss me over her knee to be spanked.

“How old were you when you married this guy?”

“Does it matter -?”

“Stephanie!”

“I was eighteen! Eighteen, all right? Are you happy?”

“Eighteen,” she says it like it’s a whole new concept not to be believed. “Do you know what most of your classmates were doing when they were eighteen?”

I clench my jaw and refuse to acknowledge that question, but – as usual – this doesn’t deter her in the slightest.

“Thinking about college or maybe not…partying it up…experiencing the world…”

It’s my turn to give an unladylike snort. “Honey, I experienced the world a whole lot more than any of my classmates could ever imagine. I know what you’re going to say, and believe me, I’ve heard about it ad nauseum and even wondered about it myself. Yes, I had only one real boyfriend before meeting Michael and never got a chance to play around with different men, but from the little I met before then, they weren’t exactly model citizens. If I had a chance to go back in time, I’d do it all over again, Sheila. It’s true that Michael hasn’t always been a gentleman, and there are times when I want to throttle him, but compared to what I could have, I wouldn’t trade him for anything or anyone else.”

I open my mouth to say more; to defend my marriage, my life, my children, everything I’ve ever done in the ten plus years we’ve been together, but with no warning at all –

(is everything all okay?)

“Oh Go…God…!”

They finally break free with that choked wail of misery that I try to muffle quickly with the slapping of my shaking hands over my face. It’s humiliating and shameful to be this weak in front of Sheila – of all people- but I hurt so much, and I can’t stand it! The past few months have been so stressful and strenuous on our relationship, it’s all I can do to perform my daily functions without experiencing a nervous breakdown. For my children, for the co-workers, and for the world, I have to keep playing this role while the boulder on my shoulders threatens to crush me.

“You stupid, stubborn crybaby,” comes the soft words that are followed by the sensation of slender but strong arms around me. When did she move to this side of the table? “God, you make me so mad, you know that?”

I know, I want to say. I know I can be difficult, but please…give me a chance to prove that everything will work out in the end. It’s got to! I can’t let everyone down. They are all waiting for me to fail, and I can’t…I won’t…I can’t…!

The feel of her lips within my hair doesn’t make me shudder or shrink away in repulsion, and like a helpless child, I cling to her tightly and cry it all out…

…to cry out what has simply been the worst few months of my life.

__

New Haven, Connecticut
Summer 2002

7:05pm…and I still wasn’t dressed.

Dr. Maxwell would be showing up at any minute, and I was still frozen on my bed in my white bathrobe with a matching towel wrapped around my head like a turban. I scrolled through my BlackBerry hoping I’d have caught any mail Michael left (while I was in the shower) considering I called him earlier and received his voice message instead.

It seemed like it was an eternity ago I had accepted the invitation to go to the damn concert with Steven, and yet it was only hours ago. I had arrived home around two in the morning, went straight to bed, got woken at an ungodly hour (actually eight) by the boys, who were eager to get started on their packing for their week-long holiday with Deja and Chris. Their first born - Little Christina - could hardly be called ‘little’ anymore. At eleven, (and looking more like her mother every day) she was already breaking hearts this way and that, and I think it was safe to say that David might be harboring a little crush on her; though he did confide in me one night that she felt more like a big sister to him than anything. At least baby Bailey would have Prince to take care of him, so one could understand my sons’ eagerness to leave our home for more fun with the Latrells.

“You okay, Steph?” Chris, who had driven all the way down here to pick them up (what a dear), had asked as I sat on the stairs – still half-asleep while the children kicked up their heels and sang off key and did their best to give me a headache. “You don’t look so good, sweetheart.”

“Tired,” I replied with a weak smile, chuckling a little as Prince was tugging his hand with an impatient “Come ooooon, Uncle Chris! We’re gonna be laaate-ah!”.

In this light (pout and impatience included), my baby reminded me of his father. Michael had called earlier, but I must have been too conked out to hear the phone ringing. His message had been sweet though. Pity I had listened to it with that damning picture etched firmly in my mind.

(I miss you, babe. Everyday, I think of you. I can’t wait to get back home and into your arms. Call me when you wake up, okay? I think I can hear you snoring from here *adorable giggle*)

Yeah…after spending all your time with that heifer –

“Aw, I feel you,” Chris interrupted my thoughts with a nod of understanding. “How much longer now before this whole thing is done?”

“Just a few more months…hours of residency and then fellowship, and then I’m traveling to the moon and never coming back.”

He laughed at that. “I hear you. You and Michael deserve to go on a looong vacation. No kids.” He waggled his brow suggestively, and I tried to smile in return, but it felt forced though Chris didn’t seem to notice. David had dashed back into the house to find out what was taking them so long.

And finally – after several hugs and kisses from my babies in farewell - I was left alone in that ginormous house with nothing but my troubled thoughts and the realization that I would be going out tonight with a man who was not my husband.

“It’s not a date,” I kept telling myself as I stood in my closet wondering what the hell to wear. “It’s a working outing…of sorts. Just a concert and then I’m heading right home.”

(you still haven’t told Michael yet)

(and why should I?) came the cold and cruel voice that sounded eerily like myself as a teenager (he didn’t tell you he would be meeting with Princess Stephanie, did he? And he hasn’t even bothered trying to explain himself. Did you listen to his message? He sounds as if it’s just another regular day in the neighborhood! The gall of the man!)

“Maybe…maybe it was nothing,” I whispered to my reflection as I held up the cream-colored Versace cashmere sweater to my chest and posed to see how it would look. “Maybe nothing happened at all, and I’m just over thinking things.”

(hellooooooo! Did you see the way he was holding her hand?! What the hell is wrong with you, Stephanie? Has married life gotten you so comfortable, you’re willing to really believe that Michael hasn’t even cheated on you since then? The man has needs, remember? He’s even told you that since he’s laid off some of those drugs, his libido is even higher than before. You don’t think he’s sitting home jacking off to porn videos to satisfy his desires while you’re stuck here -)

“A pair of jeans should do the trick,” I said out loud to shut that damn voice up. Still I held my breath and waited for it to start again; to taunt me at how naïve and foolish I was being. The voice had spoken the truth after all. Michael had always had a healthy sexual appetite (as if that wouldn’t be the understatement of the century), but thanks to the reduction in all the medication he had been taking before I showed up and the regiment his new dermatologist, Dr. Greenville, had him under – let’s just say he was a whole new ‘man’. Just how manly? Nearly insatiable...when in the mood.

(which is why he’s getting his relief elsewheeeeere)

“Shut up,” I hissed at the taunting sing-song voice. “He wouldn’t dare do that. He’s smart enough to know he’d be fucking up royally if he dared cheat on me. He’s got a family now for fuck’s sake.”

(like father like sooooon)

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked sharply, but the annoying voice decided it was time to stop bugging me. It had firmly planted those seeds of doubt, and for the rest of the day I had paced about the house restlessly (disguised as doing some cleaning, which was silly considering the maids had taken care of most of it), and trying to get some sleep…which didn’t work either.

What time is it in Monaco, anyway? Almost midnight, right? He should still be awake-

The sudden ring of my smart phone had me nearly jumping ten feet into the air. Placing a hand on my thudding chest, I stared at the name on the screen blankly; my vision blurred as I struggled to make sense of what I was seeing. It took another long second to realize it was actually Michael, and with my heart still racing, I put him through and tried to sound as normal as possible.

“Hey, Sexy.”

His low laugh/chuckle still (much to my chagrin) managed to send those familiar chills of longing down my spine, and not for the first time in a while, I really wished he was with me; right here, right now. I wanted him back in my arms, and not the image of the man kissing and holding another woman who was my damn namesake.

“Hey, Beautiful,” he drawled. “What’s going on?”

I’m about to go on a…working…date with my attending physician. That’s what.

“Getting ready for a night all alone,” I lied, gripping the edge of the bathrobe so tightly, I could see my knuckles turning white. “And you?”

“I was half-asleep,” he replied and I could hear him rustling on the bed...

(is she there with you? Lying next to you?)

…as if to get more comfortable.

“Oh…well…” I glanced towards the intercom that connected our bedroom to the main floor downstairs. The light would flash red if a maid wanted to get our attention, and with it blinking like a neon sign on the Vegas Strip, it was a clear message that I was needed.

7:54pm. Dr. Steven was probably here. Oh God.

“Babe?”

“Yes?” Do I sound guilty? Why do I sound so breathless?

“You okay?” he asked; genuine concern in his voice that made me feel even sicker to my stomach. If he’s acting, then he’s doing a damn fine job. Do I bring up the pictures? He must have seen them by now, right? I know he pays no attention to the tabloids, and it’s something we’ve made a conscious effort to ignore (most of the time), so…

“I’m just tired, I guess,” I replied. “Been a long day.”

“Want me to make you feel all better?” he asked in that tone that made me believe that either one, he definitely hadn’t been jacking off to any porn movies and was horny as hell, or two, he was still horny as hell.

Not good. I was beginning to tingle all over, and I really hated the power he had over me in this way.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Not…not tonight, baby. I’d probably fall asleep before we even get done.”

I could literally hear his playful pout, and expected him to try to cajole or convince me to stay on the phone, but instead he only sighed. “All right, honey. I’ll let you get some sleep, but I’ll be home soon and you won’t escape me.”

“Why would I want to escape? You still haven’t told me where you hid the key to the cage in your heart where I reside, babe.”

He chuckled and blew a soft kiss. “And I have no plans of telling you either, my love. It will remain hidden for the rest of our lives.”

(ask him! Ask him now! Do it!)

“Mic...Michael?”

“Hmm?”

I licked my lips and felt my tongue getting heavier and heavier within my drying mouth. How could I phrase this? Should I just blurt it out or...?

“Babe?” he drawled wearily. He really did sound tired. “You still there?”

I can’t. I can’t do it! I want him to-

“Yes...” I manage weakly.

Just…tell me…everything. What happened? Why were you with her? Why won’t you talk to me? Why did you feel the need to hide your meeting with her? And now you have me wondering if there are others out there. Others you might have seen and the cameras were not around to capture your discretions. What am I supposed to think, Michael? Tell me what the hell I’m supposed to think?!

I lifted my lashes and arched my neck to stare at the ceiling blindly; my lower lip caught hard between my teeth because I was sure if I said anything else, I’d burst into tears and probably make a fool of myself.

“I love you, honey,” he whispered.

(do you? Do you really?)

“I…I’ll call you in the morning,” I croaked in reply; hanging up quickly so he couldn’t say anything else.

(now you’ve gone and done it. Now he’s going to keep awake all night because you didn’t say ‘I love you back’. You know how anal he gets when that happens. He’ll think…nah…he’ll know you’re definitely pissed at him for something and -)

“Yes?” I snapped aloud into the intercom, hoping I could squash down Mrs. Doubtful & Paranoid all over again.

“Dr. Maxwell has arrived, ma’am,” Mrs. Brahms’ disembodied voice floated into the room. “I’ve ushered him into the living room as you requested.”

Shit, and I was still not dressed.

“Tell him I’ll be down in about ten minutes,” I replied quickly; while shedding off the robe and turban at the same time. If there was one thing I hated, it was ‘panicked dressing’, and though I have stylists or assistants, or whatever it is they are called (Michael insisted I get them because of my busy schedule), they only show up when I have to attend important events (read as award shows or public appearances). I think I should be able to pick out what to wear for a simple concert instead of calling Cassandra to drive all the way over to suggest what color goes with my eyes for the night. Pfft.

It wasn’t until I ‘fluffed’ out my hair and took a step back to have a final look at my appearance, did I realize just how…well…clingy the sweater was. It wasn’t skin tight per se, but it did highlight my curves (bosoms) in a generous light, and the black jeans were a sort of throw back to the 70s; tight on the hips and thighs and flared at the bottom, and with a pair of black leather ankle boots courtesy of Chanel, I was literally looking at Stephanie King circa 1992. I looked fresh-faced and young (and yes, I know I’m still young all things considered but with my little to no makeup tonight, I could pass for a teenager).

I wanted to change immediately; not wanting Dr. Maxwell to assume that I was giving him mixed signals. However, knowing I had kept him waiting for over ten minutes – and I really didn’t want to miss much of the show – I reached for one of my Burberry trench coats to ‘hide’ what I wore beneath.

“So sorry,” I panted breathlessly as I all but jogged down the stairs with an apologetic smile. “I overslept and completely forgot the time.”

I would have tripped over the bottom step, if my hand wasn’t clutching the banister with a death-like grip; but damn if Dr. Steven Maxwell hadn’t gone out of his way to look like he had just stepped out of the pages of GQ even in something as casual as jeans, a dress shirt, and tweed coat. I had expected him to be in the living room, but to see him standing in the foyer with hands clasped behind his back, while admiring the many paintings that lined the wall – took my breath away…and not in a good way.

Turning around and breaking into that familiar smile didn’t help much either.

“I should be the one apologizing,” he said with a light bow of his head; and yes, even though he had promised not to ‘disrespect my marriage’ or whatever reason he had given back in the office, there was still no denying that he was male and could appreciate something good when he saw it. He looked sufficiently embarrassed as he finally lowered his gaze and scratched his head a little. “I must have come a little earlier than I mentioned. I guess I’m a little nervous since this is the first time in a while I’ve gone out on a da -”

“Working outing,” I interrupted firmly; perhaps more to convince myself that this was all it really was and nothing else. I deliberately lifted my left hand a little so the gleam of my wedding ring would emphasize that we might be feeling some kind of raw physical attraction here…

(stop fluttering you stupid stomach!)

…but I was still a married woman, and above all else I intended to keep it that way despite -

“Working outing,” Steven agreed with a nod; a small smile of amusement on his lips. “Though there will be no diagnosing or prescribing of medication tonight, eh?”

I relaxed a little at the joke, and even managed to give him a genuine smile at last. “Of course. Shall we?”

“After you, my lady.”

“Stop it, Doctor Maxwell,” I teased half-heartedly; though I had to confess it felt nice to have a man bow to me with such flourish. “You must be on your best behavior tonight.”

His laugh was rich and, dare I say, soothing to hear; and as he held open the door for me –

“Will you be returning late tonight, ma’am?”

Mrs. Brahms’ cool Bostonian-accented voice jerked me out of the moment; forcing me to turn around to face the matronly head maid. I didn’t need a rocket scientist to translate the body language. Though she always stood with her hands clasped on her waist in front of her; her expression was chilling enough to let me know she did not approve of what she was seeing.

I have been faithful for nearly ten years, I wanted to scream in defense. Not once have I done this, Mrs. Brahms! Don’t you think I deserve to have a little fun, too? It’s not as if we’re going to do anything. We’re just going to watch a concert for God’s sake! Why must you look at me as if I’m vermin?

“Perhaps,” I finally replied; amazed at how cold yet calm I sounded. Let the woman think what she likes, I thought angrily. Who the hell is she anyway? I could fire her if I wanted, and if she dared decide to write a tell-all book, she knows she’ll be breaking a confidentiality agreement and –

“Stephanie?”

I forced another smile and focused my attention on my bemused companion. “Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

And with that, I figured the matter was closed. Yet, as I look back now, I should have known that things wouldn’t be that easy.

Such things never turn out the way you hope it would be.

__


The concert was…stupendous!

One of the best I had seen in a while. Michael and I have been to a few either publicly (Celine Dion and Stevie Wonder a few years back) or ‘incognito’ as in we sometimes go in disguise or attend but without the publicity statements or alerts to the media about it. Those were the fun ones, in my opinion, because we got to enjoy the show without being recognized or having fans focus on Michael and I being there instead of the real entertainers performing.

Steven had gotten great seats in the V.I.P section, and though it was a small venue, it was still packed with fans (mostly the college kids) that were eager to experience the refreshing sounds of the British exports. I thought Chris Martin was adorable (though he really needed to eat a sandwich or something) and his voice took me to another plane that was not of this earth. Yellow was my favorite song, and it was something I was still humming as we made our way out of the building. I made a mental note to tell Cassie to purchase their upcoming CD – A Rush of Blood to the Head – as soon as it came out. They had tantalized the audience with a few songs from the upcoming album, and I was dying to get my hands on it.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Steven said; though I didn’t really hear him.

“What?” I shouted; the din of the chattering fans, machines from backstage and all-around chaos made it next to impossible to understand what he was saying.

“I said, I’m glad you had fun tonight,” he yelled back with a laugh. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you relaxed in a while. It felt good to let it all go, right?”

“Yes, it did!” I grinned in agreement.

And he was right. Not once did he make a pass at me, and as the evening went on, it felt like I was on just another outing with a fellow classmate or colleague. We both danced or swayed to the music and didn’t really talk much during the show. I had been so focused on the musicians and their sound, nothing else seemed to matter; not my inner turmoil, or Michael’s indiscretions, or the fact that I was out with another man who wasn’t…well…Michael.

“Where did we park again?” I asked as we approached the exit.

“Valet parking, remember?”

“Oh…right…” I giggled at my forgetfulness; feeling so damn good, I didn’t even bother pushing his hand away when he grabbed at my arm to steady me (thanks to a bunch of impatient attendees eager to get first bidding to the valets).

Unfortunately, his attempt to steady me involved being yanked closer to him – more of a protective move and nothing more. I barely flinched at the sensation of his chin against my hair, but I did freeze as the first and oh-so-familiar click-whirr of cameras shot through my system like an icy needle.

Oh.My.God.

“Stephanie! Stephanie!”

OhmyGod!OhmyGod!OhmyGod!

“What the…?” That was Steven, who was rightfully bemused as from out of nowhere - and I swear I really don’t know how these paparazzi do this because they can mutate from one virus to about ten or more in a matter of seconds – we are swarmed, literally crushed with them. We could hardly see anything ahead of us with the chaos. Though this was only downtown New Haven and not New York where I would have expected something like this, it was still its main hubnub of activity. The funny thing is, we had not been bothered when we went in earlier, so why…why now? Who the fuck tipped them off? How did they know…?!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Poor Steven muttered beneath his breath. “What the hell’s going on?”

Welcome to my world, Doctor Maxwell.

I was ducking my head; an automatic protective gesture I’ve had to learn from Michael over the years especially when we went out in an attempt to be ‘normal’.

“The car!” I hissed angrily; wanting to burst into tears of frustration at what was going on, and all those damn questions!

“Stephanie?! Is it true that you and Michael are breaking up?!”
“Stephanie! Are you and Michael getting a divorce?!”
“Stephanie! Where are the children going to stay?!”
“Are you angry at Princess Stephanie?!”
“Will you sue Michael, Stephanie?!”
“Did you sign a pre-nup, Stephanie?!”
“Are you cheating on Michael, Stephanie?!”
“Where are David and Prince tonight, Stephanie?! Do they know you’re out with another man?!”

Where is the fucking car?!

“Get inside, Stephanie,” Steven was saying as if he must have heard my inner cry of desperation. He all but snatched the keys from the valet, and had to shove a few of the pests away from the door just so he could get me in.

“Please move away,” he snapped impatiently. “We must leave!”

“Who the hell are you, Mister?” one of the annoying gnats had the gall to ask. “You are tramping on someone else’s property! Home wrecker!”

Homewrecker?! Oh God! Kill me now!

I wanted to cover my face in humiliation, but all I could do was keep my head lowered; already seeing the headlines that would be printed all over the world and splashed across the internet by morning. With Michael’s ‘discretions’ and now this stunt I pulled, the media was going to sink their fangs into this like the vampires they were and bleed out our supposed divorce/separation with earnest. We had laughed over the rumors in the past, but now…now…

This was a fucking disaster. A disaster beyond compare! All I could think about was the children; how this would affect them if some kid in school decided to be a wiseass and bring it up.

I just can’t believe how -

“It’s okay,” Steven; though slightly breathless as he finally managed to slam the door shut and start up the engine. He flashed me a smile of reassurance, but I could tell that despite his attempt to look strong and in control, this whole thing was unnerving to the ordinary person, and why wouldn’t it? It was frightening in a way – to look out the window; feeling crushed by people who no longer looked human. With hands that trembled, I somehow managed to open my handbag to slide on sunglasses (more to protect my eyes from the flash of the cameras than anything, I mean what was the use? They had already caught my features. What’s the point in hiding that now?)

“Get out of the fucking way!”

This time it wasn’t Steven yelling, but two burly bodyguards who were finally out to control the mayhem. Steven – with a death grip on the steering wheel – had to maneuver his way through the sea of humanity without hitting anyone – though I was sure he wanted to at least run one or two of them down for spite - (and by this time some curious fans had stopped to see what the commotion was about; some even videotaping the damn thing with their cell phones or taking pictures!) It seemed to take an eternity, but in about five minutes we were mercifully back on the highway and away from Hell.

The silence now seemed overwhelming after the cacophony of being mobbed, and as I curled against the door in misery; I dreamt of finding the biggest hole in the world and burying myself in it for the rest of my life. I would admit that a part of me – though small at the moment – was angry; angry that I couldn’t even enjoy a simple night of going out with a friend (albeit my ‘boss’ so to speak) without it becoming a public event. It wasn’t as if this was the first time this was taking place. I had gone out on dinner dates with some friends in the past –

(yeah, but none of them were tall, dark, and handsome single doctors, were they?)

…and yes, those outings had been with girlfriends or a group of people. Steven was the exception tonight. All the same, this wasn’t New York. The paps hadn’t been there when we arrived, or if they had they had been preoccupied with the one or two B-Listers we had spied in the audience. It could only boil down to someone tipping them off, and though I would like to find that bastard to choke the life out of him or her, it was a moot situation. Such things had happened before, so I ought to be used to it by now. Right?

“Phew,” Steven finally said with a shaky laugh. “Glad that’s over and done with.”

“…I’m sorry,” I muttered into the leather upholstery of his very nice BMW by the way. Black leather seats. Nifty.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“For what I am…who I am,” I continued in a voice that sounded hollow and empty; devoid of any real emotion. I wanted my bed; to crawl into it or maybe call my boys and speak to them. Perhaps hearing their innocent voices would make me feel like normal again.

“Stephanie-”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come out with you tonight.”

“Please stop that,” he said curtly; as if exasperated with my attitude. “I wanted to take you out because you deserved a break. You’ve put in the most hours at the hospital and take your profession seriously. It’s something I’ve always admired in you, Stephanie. You might be the wife of the most famous man on the damn planet, but you are carving a niche for yourself and becoming your own woman.” He pounds a fist on the steering wheel lightly. “You don’t have to apologize for trying to break free from the chains of your status. Every once in a while, we all crave relief, don’t we?”

I said nothing, though the urge to burst into tears was gaining control of me. I didn’t want to give in…at least not in front of him.

“My only regret is that your husband might take this the wrong way,” he muttered with a light shake of his head. “Damn it. Look, if you need me to explain things to him -”

I couldn’t help the sharp burst of bitter laughter that escaped my lips at the sudden image of him and Michael sharing a cup of tea and discussing me. Yeah right. Michael might give the world the image of a nice, caring, sweet man, but his jealous streak was nothing to laugh about. He could get ugly when he chose to, and I had the feeling this was not going to sit too well with him.

(but you’ve got a reason to stand up to him now. Princess Stephanie, remember?)

“What’s so funny?” he asked with a glance of confusion thrown my way.

I waved a hand lightly in dismissal. “Nothing. This doesn’t really concern you anymore, and you don’t have to explain anything to anyone. He won’t believe you anyway. Depending on how the press chose to showcase the pictures they took of us, it’s going to look incriminating. This is my battle. I’ll deal with it.”

“Stephanie-”

“It’s okay, Steven,” I gave him a weak smile; hoping he’d understand and not pry too much. “Nothing happened between us. You know that, I know that, so whatever lies the rest of the world want to print and broadcast, as long as we know the truth, it’s fine.”

His lips tightened, and he shook his head softly. “I don’t…I can’t imagine how painful it must be for you…for both of you, having to read and listen to lies about you. I think getting a taste of what your life is like tonight…I wouldn’t trade mine for it. No offence.”

I reciprocated his apologetic smile. “I know. It’s not exactly all fun and games, and you learn to develop a thick skin over time. Not to say that some of the accusations don’t hurt, after all we are only human, but you try to weed out such negativity and focus on the good things in your life. I have my children and they bring me joy. They keep me grounded and remind me of what’s important.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Hmm?”

“With Eric,” he admitted with a small smile. “When Lara passed away, I didn’t know what the hell to do with myself.” He laughed a little though there was no humor in it. “I loved Lara like no one else. She was everything to me. She stuck with me through medical school and supported me during the darkest times. After my fellowship, we finally decided to have a baby together; something we had always dreamed of from the moment we met.” He gave a rueful smile as he made the turn into the quiet boulevard leading to my home. “But she was too frail…her body too delicate to handle the burden of pregnancy. In a way I blamed myself for it; wanting so bad to be a father that I didn’t really take the time to notice my wife’s daily struggle to survive. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m a doctor and yet the one person I should have been able to save…slipped away from me.”

“Steven…”

He shook his head to prevent me from feeling sorry for him or saying something to sympathize with him. “Her last and greatest gift to me was Eric, and that kid means the world to me. Looking at him everyday, I see her face and it warms my heart to know that she’s always with us no matter what. I work hard to give him all he deserves and to raise him to be the best kid he can possibly be. So you see…” He stops at the gate where the lone security guard is approaching. “I can relate to how you feel about your sons. Trust me.”

Anything else I might have said is interrupted as the guard realizes who it is; greets us with a tip of his hat and light conversation, before activating the gate to let us through.

“Doubt you’ll be inviting me up for coffee, eh?” Steven teased as I prepared to make my exit.

“Sorry,” I chuckled weakly. “Maybe some other time.”

“No hard feelings,” he agreed with a nod of understanding. “I want you to get some rest, all right? Promise me that at least.”

“I will, Doctor.”

To my surprise, he reached for my hand to squeeze it gently, and again I found myself unwillingly reacting to his presence; made all the more intense with the fervor in his grey eyes. He really would make a great husband for whichever woman he managed to finally give his heart to again.

“Don’t do anything foolish with Michael,” he said quietly. “Don’t call him tonight when you’re in this state. Sleep over it, and in the morning when you’re calm enough to talk…call him and explain everything, okay?”

I nodded; glad he told me this because a part of me had contemplated the idea of calling Michael tonight to let him know. It would be in the wee hours of the morning in Monaco right now, and I doubt waking him up to ramble about a concert gone horribly wrong was going to make him feel any better anyway.

“I will,” I managed to whisper when it didn’t look as if he was satisfied with my nod. I really wished he’d release me. I wanted to get as far away from this intensity as possible.

“Des…despite everything, I had a good time at the concert tonight,” I said quickly. “Thank you.”

“I’d do it all over again…just with a different outcome at the end,” he added with a light chuckle, and as if my night of surprises wasn’t enough; feeling the sensation of his warm lips on the back of my hand, had me biting my lower lip to control the reluctant whimper that would have escaped.

“Good night, Stephanie,” he said in a voice that was definitely huskier than before. Even he must be feeling whatever it was that was happening between us. Dead wife or not. “I guess my life is about to change now, but I will not say anything to the press even if I’m hounded for the rest of my life. I promise.”

Why that made me feel like crying, I had no idea, but all I could do was nod again, and finally release my hand from his grip to escape this oppressive and near-claustrophobic atmosphere. I did take the time to lean down to peer through the window at him.

“Good night, Steven, and drive safely.”

I watched him drive away, and didn’t move for almost ten good minutes long after his car had left the neighborhood. However, that niggling sensation of being watched (though I tried to attribute it to the events of the evening), had me shuddering before finally forcing my feet to move back into the house.

In the morning, I told myself as I made my way upstairs. In the morning, I’ll call him and explain everything. He should understand, after all…nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing at all.


__


I awoke to over thirty blinking messages on my BlackBerry.

I had set it to vibrate so I could get uninterrupted rest, rather surprised I was able to sleep for so long anyway as I was sure my night was going to be restless. However, as I drew my knees to my chest and scrolled through the messages, I realized that the shit had really hit the fan in a big way. There were messages from seemingly everyone.

Tuesday July 15th, 2002
6:54a Cassie URGE…
7:05a Cassie URGE…
7:07a Steve Mann. Re: Impo…
7:08a Dede Latrell Call m…
7:10a Cassie Pick u…

Many, many more from Cassie, who I could imagine must be ripping her damn hair out right about now. Ah, to be the private assistant/publicist to Mrs. Stephanie Jackson.

8:14a MOM Call m…
8:20a DAD Heard ab…
8:30a MOM Are yo…
8:45a Sheryl Oh G…
9:01a Dr.Maxwell Hell…
9:04a Kelly Hey…
9:23a Cassie Pleas…

Word gets out fast. Considering I was on the East coast, I was guessing those on the West Coast were yet to be hit with the fantastic news of my ‘adultery’.

It took a while, but finally the one name/call/email I had been expecting was right there, glaring at me from the tiny screen:

10:32a Chaplin Call m…

I could already picture what the email looked like, and I was proven right with the rather curt:

Call me.

No ‘babe’. No ‘honey’. No ‘sweetheart’. Nothing. Just…

Call me.

(We need to talk.)

It’s human nature to suddenly feel defensive, don’t you think? I mean, I didn’t send him a curt email going ‘Call Me’ when he was parading his ex-lover around Monaco, did I? What gave him the right to leave me such a condescending message? Call me? Well, he was just going to have to wait.

(that’s right! Sock it to him! Don’t give in! Show him you’re not going to let him walk all over you!)

I kill time by first taking a shower, slipping into a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a tee-shirt beneath a house coat, then making myself a quick breakfast of toast and orange juice while answering the other calls – well basically emailing all the concerned parties by simply stating that ‘all was well, and it was nothing but another rumor and that no, Michael and I were not getting a divorce.” I knew some people would not be satisfied with my responses (read as Mom and Dad), so I pretty much turned off the phone once I was done with my obligations.

“Phone call, ma’am.”

I lifted my gaze from the novel (some suspense thriller by Tom Wolfe) I was trying to get into, and raised a brow at Katy (thank goodness it wasn’t that crotchety Mrs. Brahms).

“Who is it?”

“Mr. Jackson.” Poor girl looked like she must have dealt with the non-sweet side of Michael because she looked flushed and a little confused.

“Tell him I’m in the shower.”

Her expression clearly screamed “a shower at two in the afternoon?”, but she only managed to shrug lightly and return to the living room, where I could hear her voice drifting into the den where I’ve been cooped up on the window seat for most of the day. Curiosity finally getting the better of me, I uncurled myself from the cozy nook and wrapping the house coat around me tightly, tiptoed closer to the living room to catch the tail end of her conversation.

“…yes, sir…yes…I understand…yes sir…no sir…they are with the Latrells for the week…yes sir…Mr. Latrell picked them up yesterday I believe…I don’t know, sir…I was not here last…”

“Give me that,” I cut in angrily, while snatching the phone from her and ignoring her surprised gasp. How dare he question the maid about me?!

Be calm. Speak clearly. Don’t get too pissed off from the get-go-

“Michael?”

There was a pause for a second, before he asked warily. “Stephanie?”

“Yes, it’s Stephanie.”

“Done with the shower already?”

That damn condescending…! You can literally hear him sneering!

“Yes, actually,” I replied coldly; my grip on the phone tightening until I was sure it was going to crack in two.

“Getting the filth off your date from last night, honey?”

What?! I could feel my entire body flush with heat, and not the good kind.

“You bastard,” I hissed into the phone; not wanting the maids – who I was sure would gossip to high heaven– to hear much of this. To be double sure, I kicked the door shut behind me. “You son of a bitch! How dare you?!”

“How dare I? How dare I?”

The deepened voice had returned, and though on any other day it would have made me shiver with desire, now it just annoyed me.

“Did you just ask me that, girl? You run around-!”

“Now you listen to me-!”

“…with some guy-”

“Excuse me?! Who was holding and kissing some goddamn princess half-way across the world, huh?!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!”

“Princess Stephanie, Michael! Or did you fail to catch that particular tabloid trash that was splashed all over the papers and internet?! You were practically mauling her, and you didn’t tell me about it!”

“Mauling her?! I was simply kissing her on the cheek!”

“Oh, that’s rich!”

“What about you? You were practically hugging that...that-!”

“I did NOT hug him! He was trying to protect me from someone who tried to push me!”

“You lied to me,” he said so calmly yet with enough ice to freeze the depths of Hell. “I asked you last night what you were doing, and you said you were going to stay home. You didn’t tell me you were going to be out with some guy -”

“For your information, Michael Joseph Jackson, that ‘man’ is my attending physician, the one I’ve told you about several times! His name is Doctor Steven Maxwell, and he was nothing but a gentleman last night and-!”

The sudden sound of the dial tone had me gasping in disbelief. Did he just hang up on me?! Did he just…?!

“Urgh!”

So pissed I could hit something, I angrily punched in the numbers to his cell phone, and predictably I got the busy signal.

Fuck!

I slammed the receiver back into place and paced about in growing agitation. I couldn’t fly down to Monaco to punch his lights out, but then again, he did say he would be returning to the States today, so for all I know he might have called from the plane.

However, the sudden buzz of my BlackBerry had me digging into the pocket of my housecoat; hoping that it would be him just so I could call him something really ugly and then hang up on him in return. Instead I saw it was only Deja and contemplated hanging up, only to experience a sudden (and very troubling vision) filling my mind.

My boys. He knows where the boys are. What if…what if…?

(you know he’ll do it. He’ll just jet to the Latrells’ place and pick them up and not tell you about it. He could very well divorce you, fight you in court to get complete custody of them and then…)

Oh God no! He wouldn’t dare!

Feeling my breath hitch in panic…

Oh God, not a panic attack now. I haven’t experienced that in ages!

…I connected to Deja and had to sit down to control myself.

“Stephanie?”

“De...Deja?” Breathe. Breathe. Breathe Stephanie. Just breathe.

“Are you okay?” she asked in genuine concern. “You’re breathing hard, honey.”

“I’m…I’m fine. Just…forgot my phone downstairs and had to run down to pick it up. What’s going on? Are the boys okay? They’re not giving you any problems, are they?”

She laughed a little. “You know they are angels. My question is…are you okay?” She gave a soft sigh. “It’s all over the news this morning. You can’t turn to any station without them talking about you and Michael with other people. It’s like they’re literally gloating over the possibility of a divorce. Please tell me it’s all a lie.”

“It is…at least on my end,” I replied wearily. I held my aching head in a hand as my device began to beep with an incoming call. It didn’t help that the house phone was beginning to ring again, and assuming it was Michael getting over his stupid tantrum and calling me back, I had to end this conversation with Deja quick.

“I’ll call you back, okay? And Deja…”

“Yes, dear?”

“If Michael calls…could you let me know? Please? I know I’m being paranoid, but I have the feeling that…that…”

I couldn’t finish my thought, but I had a feeling she knew what I was getting at, and I was right.

“I wouldn’t let him do that,” she said quietly, but firmly. “This is just another obstacle you two will have to deal with, sweetheart. You both love each other too much to let this ruin such a good thing, you hear me?”

“But…but what if…what if he cheated on me?” I asked in a small voice; hating how tremulous it sounded; how close to tears I really was at this point. “You said it yourself, Deja. Michael can slip every now and then, and I know I’m a part of the problem with my decision to remain here and not having the baby -”

She ‘shushes’ my protests quickly. “That’s why you are his wife, Stephanie. He’s on his way back, confront him about it. Talk to him, find out what’s going on. You have a right to be angry too, so make no apologies for it, all right?” She blew a kiss over the phone. “Stay strong, my dear. I’ll hold the fort here with the children until all’s well.”

Whenever that is, I thought sadly. Hanging up, there was a deafening silence thanks to the home phone ceasing its incessant ringing, and the beeps on my BlackBerry no longer being bothersome.

What do I do now? just what do I…?

Another buzz of the device, and just when I thought I was going to chuck it against the wall in frustration, seeing who it was had me answering quickly;

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I’m on the plane, Stephanie. My call got cut off,” he explained in a voice that made me feel like I was being a two-year-old spoiled brat. Well fuck him.

“Really?”

“You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, not like I give a damn anyway. How can I believe anything you tell me now?”

“Likewise.”

Don’tcry.Don’tcry.Don’tyoudarecry!

“I never lied to you, Stephanie.”

“No, you just conveniently forget whenever you travel to Monaco to tell me about just who you decide to visit or not.”

“She is Prince Albert’s sister, for fuck’s sake! There’s no way I could avoid her and besides she needed my help!”

“Right.”

He took a deep breath and struggled to control his temper. “Stephanie…listen to me. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, father.”

“Do not call me that, goddamn it.”

I pretended to yawn in boredom. “Go on. Tell me another lie. I can take it.”

A muttered “I don’t fucking believe this” is soon followed by his clipped words. “She approached me about a new album she’s working on. She just needed my advice and wanted me to listen to some of her songs. She’s got herself a boyfriend for God’s sakes! Do you honestly believe that I’d do anything with her?!”

The princess working on a new album? Highly unlikely! Hadn’t she mentioned in some interview several years back that she had given up the music business? And all of a sudden she’s contemplating a new one again? Was Michael really that naïve or stupid to believe that was her only intention?

“So why didn’t you tell me about it, Michael?” I asked angrily. “What was so hard in telling me that you were working with her? What’s the big secret? Would it have killed you to do so? I’m your wife, right?!”

“I didn’t see the need to say anything! I didn’t think it was such a big deal!”

“Well it is! Do you know how…how…how humiliating it is to receive phone calls from people telling you about your husband, who is supposedly in Monaco to meet the prince over a business deal, is instead walking hand in hand with his ex-lover and her children?!”

“Stephanie-”

“Not once! Not once in all these years despite the temptation that came my way, did I ever cheat on you, Michael! I never even dared consider another man as competition, and here you are going about with any woman you feel like -”

“Any woman?! Any woman?! Which other woman, Stephanie? Name them, please!”

“You tell me, Michael! You’re the superstar! I’m just the trophy wife!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“I am sick of playing possum, and this is it! This is the last time you take advantage of me!”

“We seem to be forgetting that you fucking lied to me last night, Stephanie! Why didn’t you tell me about your date with the doctor?!”

“It wasn’t a date! Nothing happened! We just went to watch Coldplay and that was it!”

He takes a deep breath. “…Stephanie…”

“What?!”

“How can I trust you now?” His voice sounded pained and that was the worst part of it all. It was that tone of disappointed resignation that came whenever he realized that yet another person had let him down, and though during those low periods I had comforted him and tried to convince him of remaining positive, to realize that I was now the recipient of such an emotion stung deeper than any of his words could ever achieve.

I was a disappointment to him. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“How can I...trust you...after...?”

“That makes the two of us,” I whispered as my throat began to tighten and my vision blurred. I could already feel the wheezing beginning and with my medication upstairs, I knew I had to end this soon.

“Stephanie-”

“We have nothing more to say to each other, Michael.”

“What are you sa-?”

“Good bye, and I mean it.”

He seemed to finally understand what was happening, and the panic and yet anger in his voice had me shivering. “Good bye? What do you mean by -?”

“I just can’t do this anymore, Michael.”

“Don’t do this to me, Stephanie. Don’t you da -!”

But I hung up, even going as far as turning off the device completely. I knew the home phone would ring in earnest when he realized I had disconnected my BlackBerry. I glanced at the clock – three-thirty in the afternoon. If I worked fast, I could pack a few suitcases, head to the private airport and get to New York within the hour. I knew Michael would be heading straight for New Haven, and the last thing I wanted to do was see him in person. If there was one thing we had agreed upon, it was to never have an argument in front of the children, and we had succeeded so far.

This situation would be no different.

I would take my boys and go to a place where we could be left in peace for a while. I needed to gather myself…to find myself again, and the sooner I did it, the better for all of us.