I picked out the ones I recognized. Admiral Riley and his wife, Galena. The bone-thin blonde Saxby sisters, twins, Christina and Celina—distant relations to the Rockefellers and local socialites who had gotten too old for the party scene. The sleazy trust-fund baby Montgomery Walker, with what I assumed was his fifth wife, a very young woman called Ming. They all stared at me.
“Watch out, everyone.” A bitchy voice broke the silence. “We’ve got a convict on the loose in here.”
I sighed. “Hello, Juliette.”
She smirked, clearly enjoying herself. Tall, athletic, with long brunette hair she always scraped back so tight in a ponytail to enhance her latest facelift, Juliette was an ex-tennis pro who had married the owner of a local broadcasting network here in San Francisco. In truth, she’d been a mediocre tennis player in her twenties and barely scraped into just a handful of Grand Slams, but if there was a tournament for social climbing, she’d win every single one. Now, with an army of reporters, a wholeTV station at her disposal and her husband’s money greasing every wheel, Juliette was far too influential to snub at any party. I’d barely tolerated her before, but I did it for Vincent. Juliette’s husband owned a lot of his paintings.
I glanced around, looking for her usual partner in crime, her best friend who accompanied her to all these functions. There he was, talking to an older woman who looked familiar, sprawled over by the wet bar—Dan Raine, the handsome meteorologist who worked for Juliette’s husband, reading the weather reports on the evening news. Dan was generically handsome, orange-tanned, his artificially colored dark-brown hair sprayed with so much hairspray it looked like a helmet.
Dan had always hated Vincent with a passion. He was jealous of everything about him—Vincent's effortless charisma, his sexy-white-bad-boy good looks, and his phenomenal talent as an artist. Where everything about Dan Raine was fake—his real name was actually Wesley Arbuckle—Dan despised my husband for his unique, strong personality and almost cult-leader-like magnetism.
Juliette hated me because she was a salty bitch. Years ago, she approached me and Vincent, swinging her hips and licking her lips, and proposed a threesome. Both Vincent and I had made the mistake of laughing in her face. Ever since then, she’d been gunning for me, but I’d barely paid her any attention. I didn’t need anyone to like me. I had Vincent, so I had everything.
It made her hate me even more.
Squaring her shoulders, she leaned over to the older, white-haired woman, dripping in diamonds next to her, and stage-whispered so everyone could hear her. “That’s the woman who went insane, destroyed Bayview Cottage, and tried to kill her husband.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open. “That’sthe woman who destroyed Bayview?”
I sighed. Now I recognized the older woman they were talking to. It was Delia Bromley, the grand doyenne of San Francisco architecture. She’d visited my house several times to tour it for a book she was writing. I’d served her tea and let her take photos of all my things.
“She also smashed the Andresano’s Modigliani. That was a priceless painting, and it was supposed to be Vincent’s inheritance,” Juliette went on, her tone scandalized. “She destroyed so many precious things and tried to kill her poor husband.”
Delia bristled. “Why is she here? She should be in prison.”
“Oh, she was in prison. She went to trial. Not guilty by reason of insanity. She just got out of an insane asylum.”
I’d had enough. “I got out almost a year ago, Juliette,” I said in a bored tone. “Probably only two facelifts ago, in your time.”
Her mouth twisted.
Dan Raine approached me slowly, arms outstretched, faux concern all over his faux-tanned face. “How are you feeling, Susan?” He spoke loudly, like I was deaf. “Are you feeling calm?”
“I’m fine. Thanks, Dan.” I smiled, even though the fury was starting to burn in my belly.
His voice grew louder. “And the menopause? Are your hormones stable? Have you taken your meds today?”
Fuck him. “No, actually, I haven’t. In fact, since I got out of hospital, I decided to rawdog my menopause. Ride the wave, you know?” My smile grew wider. “Who knows what might happen tonight?”
Delia bristled. “I barely noticed it when I went through the Change. Barely even a hot flash. Women these days aresoft, always want to be medicated up to the hilt. I never even lost my temper, not once.”
A vicious glint appeared in Juliette’s eye. She bent down and stage-whispered again, so the whole room would hear. “Oh, but it wasfarworse for poor Susan. See, Susan and Vincent had been trying for a baby for the longest time, but she couldn’t get pregnant.” She caught my eye and smiled like a snake. “Then, when she started to go through early menopause, the disappointment and sadness at being barren and childless forever drove her insane, and she?—”
Bang.
Everyone flinched and turned to see a huge crack in the bay window behind Juliette.
Her eyes widened. “What the…”
Just then, Gladioli appeared out of nowhere and rang a little bell. “Honored guests, please take your places.”
Slowly, everyone turned away from the window and walked towards the long dining room table. Conversation started again, and the guests teased each other over the seating arrangement and oohed and aahed over the beautiful violet and blood-red rose centerpieces. They found their seats, making jokes about how well the soft golden light of the candles in the antique candelabra disguised their wrinkles.
I couldn’t move. My fists were clenched hard to keep them from shaking. All the pain, the panic, the despair of the past two years, all the rage that had festered inside me boiled like lava, and I felt like I was about to explode if I couldn’t suppress it now. I closed my eyes and dipped my head, praying that nobody noticed. They’d call the cops. They’d call an ambulance. I’d never get out of the hospital again.Breathe, Susan. Just breathe.
I couldn’t breathe. The floorboards began to tremble.
The door opened and conversation cut off abruptly. Someone gasped.
