ChapterNine
Half a bottle of wine deep and an ocean away from home, Alana cupped her elbows and walked along the boardwalk with her younger sister, grateful for the steady rhythm of Julia’s voice and the frothing waves along the coastal stones. She felt newly born, which wasn’t entirely a good thing. Before using that metaphor, it was best to consider how tremendously terrifying it probably was to be born. All that bright light and cold air. No wonder babies screamed.
Julia was talking about her work on their father’s book, which she’d decided to use as her Hail Mary to save her publishing house.
“My marketer is killing it,” Julia stated. “We have a list of journalists a mile long who want to interview Dad about the book.”
“And is he up for that?” Alana asked.
Julia laughed. “No way! He barely speaks to me, let alone some reporter he’s never met. He has given me permission to say a few things, here and there, about the book to the press. He won’t allow me to discuss the actual case itself.”
“Why not? Isn’t it better to start creating a bit of doubt in the world’s mind about his guilt?” Alana asked.
“I think Dad wants to protect us from potential legal consequences,” Julia said thoughtfully. “Besides. I’ve been working so hard at editing the book that I haven’t had much time to dig into the whole Marcia Conrad debacle.”
Suddenly, Alana’s heart seized with panic. She lurched toward the water, gripping the railing to catch herself. She thought she might vomit.
“Alana! Are you okay? Is it the jet lag?” Julia placed a hand on Alana’s upper back, furrowing her brow.
“Marcia. I can’t believe it.” Alana shook her head violently.
“What? What about Marcia?” Julia sounded on the brink of panicking herself.
Alana lifted her eyes toward Julia’s. “Marcia Conrad was there that night.”
Julia guffawed. “What are you talking about?”
“The night of the painting incident. I can’t believe it. I only just remembered. I actually met her, Julia. As though I’d never met her before in my life,” Alana continued, overwhelmed. “But I was introduced as Alana Tarkin, Asher’s wife. The all-important painter’s wife. And immediately after that, I saw Asher with that young woman in the hallway. And everything faded to black.”
Julia set her jaw. The air around them settled and grew dense.
“She was introduced as someone very prominent in the film industry,” Alana continued. “Someone who’d paved the way for other women.” She rolled her eyes as laughter welled through her throat.
After a long time, Julia whispered, “Gosh, I wish you’d been able to ask her something. Something to dig into her psyche and figure out what kind of woman we’re dealing with.”
“I know.” Alana sputtered. “To be honest, I actually thought about that when I first realized it was her. But after that…”
“Asher,” Julia finished.
“Asher.”
Julia closed her eyes for a long time. Alana had never seen her so enraged. When she finally opened her eyes, she said, “I guess it’s not the most insane thing in the world. Marcia and Asher obviously run in the same circles.”
Alana nodded. “The circles I just was kicked out of.”
They held the silence. Alana turned around as Julia continued to gaze out over the water, contemplative. The boardwalk was a feast for the senses, with an array of tourists dressed in lace dresses and sailing shorts, their sunglasses reflecting the last of the evening light. Alana could feel the teenage version of herself, standing right there on the boardwalk without a single care in the world. In fact, back then, Greta had accused her of not having a care in the world. “When are you going to figure out where you want your life to go?” she’d asked so many times.
Further down the boardwalk, a teenage girl walked along in a pair of short exercise shorts and a turquoise tank top. In her right hand, she carried a water bottle with skeletal fingers. Each step seemed laborious for the girl, as though her legs were about to give out beneath her. On either side of her, revelers hustled around her, threatening to knock into her.
“Do you see that girl over there?” Alana asked, incredulous. It was like looking at a dandelion crumpled up in a storm.
Just as Julia turned to investigate, the poor girl fell forward, dropping her water bottle and splaying her hands out in front of her. She heaved, her eyes wide and panicked. A split-second later, Alana rushed toward her, easing through the crowd to land directly beside her.
Under her breath, the girl muttered to the ground, “I’m fine. Really.”
“I know you’re fine,” Alana lied. “I just wanted to grab your water bottle for you.” She reached forward and off to the right to lift it from the boardwalk. She then passed it to the girl and said, “It’s pretty hot out here. I get really dizzy sometimes, too.”
This wasn’t true, at least, not anymore.Alana had had her fair share of fainting spells over the years, especially in the late nineties and two-thousands. Those years were her prime modeling years. She and her girlfriends in the industry had mastered the art of eating just barely enough to keep themselves going.