Lipstick Jungle

“I don’t believe it, Shane. How could you be so fucking weak?”

“Do you think I liked being weak? You made me weak!” he shouted. “I never was in love with you. Sorry you have to hear this, but it’s the truth. I kept hoping I would fall in love with you, though. Everyone said I was crazy—you were so great. And you were just so sure. But on our wedding day? When we walked back down the aisle? I knew I’d made a mistake. Did you ever wonder why I couldn’t look at you? I was one of your goals. I’d been accomplished! And I probably would have left, but you got pregnant right away. I never had any say in the matter. You stopped taking the pill.

You said you didn’t, that it was an accident . . .”

“It was!”

“That’s bullshit, Wendy.”

“If you hated me so much, why didn’t you leave?”

“Because I fell in love with our little girl. Can’t you see that? I’m not as big of a shit as you think I am, you know? I’ve tried to do the right thing. I thought I could at least be a good father. And then you got pregnant again. And again. And every time I thought, she’s trapping you more and more so you can never leave . . .”

“Leave, Shane. Leave now.” She ran toward him and punched him in the biceps as hard as she could with the side of her fist. The impact made her hand ache. Shane spun away from her, sneering.

“Is that what you’re going to do? You can’t get your way, so you’re going to beat me up?”

“Just go. I never want to see you again.”

“Yeah, that would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it?” Shane said, nodding and rubbing his arm where she had hit him—just like a girl, she thought. “But I’m not going to do that, Wendy,” he said. “When I was gone, I realized the most important thing in my life is my kids. And I’m not going to give them up.”

Her lips tightened into a cruel smile and she folded her arms, sure that now she would have the upper hand. “You’ll never have the kids. I’ll make sure of it. I’m going to take the kids with me and make sure you don’t see them again for years.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s what I figured you’d say. You’re such a big, fucking deal, you’re so smart, so successful, so rich. But underneath, you’re just an emotional child. You can never understand that anyone else—me—might have feelings that are different from what you want. You can’t make someone love you, Wendy, but you refuse to accept that. And so all you want to do is punish me. Throw your weight around. Just like one of those big male Hollywood assholes you’re always complaining about all the time. You always say women do it differently. Why don’t you practice what you preach? For twelve years, I’ve been a great father. And I’ve tried to be a good husband. I’ve stuck around. But it’s a lie. Do you know how hard it is for me to admit the truth? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life married to a woman I’m not in love with. Is that so fucking terrible? I spend my afternoons talking to women—talking to mothers—the mothers of our children’s friends. And you know what? If the situation were reversed, if it was the woman who wasn’t in love with her husband, all her friends would say, ‘You have a right to find true love.’ How come women have a right and I don’t?”

Wendy couldn’t speak.

“And I’ll tell you another thing,” Shane went on. “I gave up my career to take care of our kids. You think it’s because I wasn’t talented . . . or I was lazy. Okay, I wasn’t as talented as you are. I don’t have what you have; I don’t have what it takes. But I’ve got other things. And you have never really respected that. Why is it that when a woman gives up her career to take care of her kids, she’s a hero, and when a man does it, all you women think there’s something wrong with him? He’s weak, or he’s a loser. That’s what you secretly think, isn’t it, Wendy? That I’m a loser.”

Oh, God, she thought. He was right. There were times, so many times, when she had looked at him with disdain, and then, feeling terrible for feeling that way, had tried to cover it up by coddling him or buying him something . . . How the hell had this happened? The world was upside down. There were no answers except . . . except, she thought, with a tiny glimmer of hope, to try to go forward and do the right thing . . . as a grown-up. And with a flash of insight, she saw that she must try to put her personal injury and hurt aside. She was so much more powerful than he was; she always had been and she always would be, and she must forgive him for that. He couldn’t hurt her—he never could, really. She must be benign. She must . . .

“Shane,” she said. She squeezed her eyes shut, as a huge gob of sorrow for everything they had misunderstood about each other suddenly overwhelmed her. “I never thought you were a loser. I loved you, Shane. I was in love with you. From the beginning . . .”

Shane shook his head. “You weren’t, Wendy. You thought you were. But you couldn’t have been. How can a reasonable, healthy person really be in love with someone who isn’t in love with them?”

She looked at him. He was so small. And so pathetic, really, in that cherry-red shirt and those white jeans. He would never be more than what he was right now, she thought sadly, but he had his own path to follow. Someday Shane might regret his actions; he might realize he’d made a mistake. Perhaps he would be punished, but if he was, it would be the universe who would punish him, not her.

And then she thought: “I must get away.”

She had paid for the pony and gone to say good-bye to the kids. “Now that I have Prince, I don’t think I’m ever going to need another person again,” Magda said eagerly. Wendy nodded. She understood. There were things that Magda was going to have to go through now, things the pony could help her with more than her own mother. I’ve been replaced by a pony, Wendy thought sadly.

“Are you leaving, Mrs. Healy?” Gwyneth asked shyly.

“I have to go back,” Wendy said. “We were nominated for six Oscars this morning and I have to do publicity.” It was a hollow and meaningless lie, she thought, but she had to maintain her dignity, at least in front of her family.

“That’s fantastic,” Gwyneth said, her eyes widening in appreciation. “It must be quite difficult getting nominated for six Oscars.”

Wendy shrugged. “It’s not such a big deal, really,” she said. She took a breath. “It’s what I do.”

And now, sitting in the back of the car, heading to the airport for the return trip to New York, she thought again, wearily, It’s what I do. Her phone rang and she automatically answered it. “Hello?” she said dully.

“Wendy!” exclaimed Victor Matrick’s hearty voice.

Wendy immediately went into automatic pilot. “Hello, Victor. How are you?”

“How are you?” he asked. “You must be thrilled. I am. Good work on those Oscar nominations. Now all we need is a win or two.”

“We’ve got a very good chance, Victor. I’m going to arrange some special screenings for the Academy members.”