Vivian Vale: The Anniversary Necklace

Vivian Vale had never particularly trusted jewelry. The stones themselves were innocent enough, she supposed, because diamonds did not promise fidelity and sapphires did not whisper forever into anyone's ear, but people had spent centuries loading perfectly blameless pieces of metal with declarations they frequently had no intention of honoring, and Vivian had heard always , only you , and until death do us part spoken over enough expensive objects to know that the greater the price tag, the more elaborate the lie sometimes became. She was standing inside Laurent & Ashe late on a Thursday afternoon, allowing a patient saleswoman to show her a watch she did not need, when the woman near the private consultation table caught her attention. Vivian noticed women. She made no apology for it. This one was perhaps forty-four, with warm olive skin, dark shoulder-length hair, and the kind of elegant beauty that had become more interesting rather than less with age, dressed in a burgundy wrap dress that followed her figure without advertising it and black pointed heels that clicked softly against the polished floor whenever she moved. Vivian looked once. Then again. The second look had absolutely nothing to do with the jewelry. The man beside the woman was perhaps fifty, handsome in a carefully maintained way, silver beginning at his temples, an expensive charcoal suit sitting perfectly on his shoulders, and the relaxed confidence of someone who believed money could make nearly any situation more comfortable. A salesman emerged from a back room carrying a narrow velvet box. “Mr. Calder,” he said. “Everything is ready.” The woman smiled. “Michael, what did you do?” Michael took the box. “Something I should have done somewhere more romantic, probably.” “You told me we were stopping here for five minutes before dinner.” “We are.” “That was suspicious enough.” He laughed and opened the box. Inside lay a diamond-and-sapphire necklace, delicate, expensive and obviously custom-made, its centerpiece catching the warm light in flashes of deep blue. The woman's hand went to her mouth. “Michael.” “Happy twentieth anniversary, Elena.” Her expression changed so completely that Vivian found herself watching despite every instinct telling her to return her attention to the watch. “You shouldn't have.” “I wanted to.” Nothing. Truth. Interesting. Elena touched the pendant carefully. “You chose this?” Michael smiled. “The moment I saw it, I thought of you.” Metal touched the back of Vivian's tongue. Lie. She lowered the watch. There it was. Elena turned toward the mirror while Michael lifted the necklace from its box. “You really picked it yourself?” “Every part of it.” Lie. “And this is why you wouldn't tell me where we were going?” “I've been planning this for months.” Lie. Vivian exhaled softly. The salesman fastened the necklace around Elena's neck, then adjusted it with professional care. “There,” he said. “The new length sits perfectly.” Vivian looked up. New length. Elena noticed too. “New length?” Michael answered quickly. “They had to make a small adjustment.” The salesman glanced at him. Only briefly. Vivian noticed. Elena smiled at her reflection. “What did you have changed?” “Nothing important.” Lie. Vivian's interest sharpened. The salesman looked uncomfortable now, although he was doing his best to hide it. Elena touched the pendant. “Is that the inscription on the back?” Michael stepped closer. “Yes.” “Can I see it?” “You'll ruin the surprise.” Lie. Elena laughed. “You're ridiculous.” “Wait until dinner.” Vivian tasted metal again. She was beginning to dislike Michael Calder. The saleswoman beside her said, “Would you like me to wrap the watch?” Vivian handed it back. “I think I've changed my mind.” “Of course.” Vivian picked up her handbag. She could leave. She should leave. Whatever Michael was hiding belonged to Michael, Elena, and whatever unfortunate person had altered the necklace. Then Elena said softly: “You remembered twenty years.” Michael kissed her temple. “How could I forget?” Truth. That was somehow worse. Vivian looked at Elena's reflection. The woman was genuinely happy. Vivian hated contaminated happiness. She walked toward the exit. The space beside Michael's chair was narrow, and when he shifted backward at precisely the wrong moment, Vivian allowed their shoulders to meet. “Oh.” She placed one hand lightly against his forearm as though steadying herself. “I'm sorry.” Michael smiled automatically. “My fault.” “No harm done.” Vivian released him. Three minutes, perhaps five. Enough, if Elena asked the right questions. Vivian took another two steps. Elena said, “Tell me what you changed.” Michael answered immediately. “The engraving.” Vivian stopped. Elena turned. “The engraving?” Michael's smile vanished. “Yes.” “What was wrong with it?” “It had Samantha's message on it.” Silence. The salesman behind the counter froze. Elena looked at Michael. “Who is Samantha?” Michael stared at her. Then his eyes widened slightly, as though he had heard his own voice and could not understand why it had betrayed him. “A woman I'm sleeping with.” Nobody moved. A customer near the diamond cases slowly lowered the bracelet she had been examining. Elena's face went white. “What?” Michael clamped his mouth shut. Vivian turned casually toward another display, although nobody in the store was pretending not to listen anymore. Elena whispered: “Say that again.” Michael shook his head. “Michael.” He said nothing. “Who is Samantha?” His jaw tightened. Elena stared at him. “You can answer me.” Michael finally whispered, “My mistress.” The older saleswoman behind the register looked at him with an expression that had gone from professional neutrality to open disgust. Elena stood very still. “How long?” Michael looked toward the door. “Elena, not here.” “You just told me you have a mistress.” “I know.” “How long?” He pressed his lips together. Elena waited. “Fourteen months.” The salesman's eyes dropped. Elena's fingers went to the necklace. “This necklace.” Michael closed his eyes. “Don't.” “Was it made for me?” “No.” Elena stared at him. Vivian felt the room become smaller. “Who was it made for?” “Samantha.” One of the saleswomen quietly put down the tray she was holding. Elena looked at the sapphire resting against her chest. “This was hers.” “Yes.” “She wore it?” “No.” “Why not?” “She didn't like it.” Elena's mouth opened slightly. Michael continued helplessly. “She said sapphires weren't her style.” Elena's eyes filled. Vivian saw her blink quickly, trying to force the tears back. It did not work. One escaped. Then another. Michael reached toward her. “Elena—” “Don't touch me.” He stopped. Her voice broke slightly. “Why am I wearing it?” Michael shook his head. “Please.” “Why?” He tried not to answer. Elena's tears kept coming now, silent and unwanted. “Michael.” “Because I couldn't return it.” The entire boutique seemed to stop breathing. Elena stared at him through tears. “You couldn't return it.” “No.” “Why?” “It was custom.” “Because of the inscription.” “Yes.” She touched the pendant as though it had suddenly become something filthy. “What did it say?” Michael looked sick. Elena's voice rose. “What did you have engraved on it for her?” “For the sexiest woman in the universe.” A woman near the entrance audibly inhaled. The older saleswoman behind the counter actually shook her head. Elena looked down at the necklace. “And now?” Michael whispered, “Elena.” “What does it say now?” “To my beloved wife of twenty years.” Elena closed her eyes. The tears ran freely now. She pressed one hand over her mouth, and for several seconds Vivian thought she might simply collapse beneath the cruelty of it. Instead Elena laughed. Once. Brokenly. “You changed for the sexiest woman in the universe into to my beloved wife of twenty years .” “Yes.” The salesman looked as though he wanted to disappear behind the counter. Elena looked directly at him. “Did you know?” The poor man swallowed. “Mrs. Calder, we were told the original engraving had been made in error.” Michael said quickly, “He didn't know.” Truth. Elena nodded. That mattered, apparently. She looked back at her husband. “So Samantha rejected it.” “Yes.” “You tried to return it.” “Yes.” “They refused.” “Yes.” “And then you remembered our anniversary.” Michael's face collapsed. “Yes.” Elena began crying harder. Not loudly. That somehow made it worse. She stood in the middle of an immaculate jewelry boutique with tears running down her face while strangers watched her husband dismantle twenty years of marriage one truthful answer at a time. “Why didn't you buy me something else?” Michael stared at the floor. “Because this cost twelve thousand dollars.” The older saleswoman muttered, “Oh, for God's sake.” Vivian almost admired her. Elena looked at Michael. “Twelve thousand dollars.” “Yes.” “And you needed an anniversary gift anyway.” “Yes.” That was the moment. Vivian saw it. Whatever remained between them ended. Elena lifted one trembling hand toward the clasp at the back of her neck, missed it, tried again, then stopped because her fingers were shaking too badly. “Take it off me.” Michael stared at her. “Elena—” “Take it off.” His hands rose. She flinched when he came close. Michael hesitated. “Please.” “Do it.” He reached behind her neck. Nobody spoke. The tiny clasp opened. Michael lifted the necklace away. Elena closed her eyes as though the absence of its weight immediately helped her breathe. He placed it in the velvet box. She looked down at her wrist. A diamond bracelet. She removed it. Michael whispered, “What are you doing?” “Fifteenth anniversary.” She placed it beside the necklace. Then her earrings. “Christmas.” “Elena, stop.” She set them down. Finally she looked at her wedding ring. Michael's face changed. “No.” Elena twisted the ring from her finger. “You don't get to say no anymore.” “Elena, I love you.” Nothing. Truth. Vivian hated that almost as much as the lies. Elena stared at him. “I believe you.” Michael blinked. She put the ring in the box. “And that makes you worse.” Michael's voice dropped. “I made mistakes.” Elena shook her head. “Five minutes ago I thought this necklace represented twenty years.” “It does.” Metal. Lie. Vivian almost smiled at the timing. Elena laughed through tears. “No. It represents twelve thousand dollars you couldn't get back.” Michael reached for her again. She stepped away. “Were there others?” He froze. Vivian glanced at him. That was a dangerous question. Elena repeated it. “Samantha. Was she the only one?” Michael tried desperately to stay silent. Elena waited. “How many?” He whispered, “During our marriage?” Elena stared at him. The older saleswoman closed her eyes. “Yes, Michael. During our marriage.” “Five.” Elena's face crumpled. This time there was no stopping it. She turned away, covering her mouth as a sob escaped. One of the younger saleswomen instinctively moved toward her, then stopped, unsure whether she had the right. Michael said, “Elena—” She turned back. “Five?” “Yes.” “Did you love any of them?” “Samantha.” Elena flinched. “And me?” “Yes.” “Do you still love me?” “Yes.” “Were you ever going to stop?” Michael's eyes filled now. “No.” Elena nodded slowly. “Thank you.” Michael looked bewildered. “For what?” “For finally making this easy.” “Elena—” “No.” She picked up her handbag. Michael followed her. “Please, we can talk at home.” “There is no we going home.” “Twenty years cannot end in a jewelry store.” Elena stopped at the door and looked at him. “No, Michael. Twenty years ended somewhere during the fourteen months you spent buying custom jewelry for another woman.” She looked back at the velvet box. “And apparently I just came here to find out.” Then she walked out. Michael stood frozen for several seconds before rushing after her. Vivian remained where she was. The saleswoman beside her whispered, “What a bastard.” Vivian looked at her. The woman blinked. “I apologize.” “Don't.” Vivian picked up her handbag. “I agree.” Outside the window Michael caught Elena near the corner. “Elena! Wait!” She turned. The effect was fading. Vivian could feel it. Michael said, “I didn't mean half of what I said.” Metal flooded Vivian's tongue. Lie. There it was. Normal service resumed. Elena simply stared at him. Then she turned and kept walking. Vivian waited another three minutes before leaving. She was not following Elena. That would have been inappropriate. She merely happened to be walking in exactly the same direction. II Vivian found her three blocks away in the bar of the Hotel Marlowe. Elena sat alone beneath amber light, the burgundy dress still immaculate despite everything, although her eyes were red and her face bore the unmistakable evidence of tears. Her left hand was bare. Her neck was bare. Her ears were bare. Everything Michael had given her was gone. Vivian took the stool one seat away. “Gin and tonic.” Elena looked sideways. Recognition arrived immediately. “You.” Vivian turned. “Me.” “You were in the store.” “Yes.” “You bumped into Michael.” “I did.” Elena stared at her for several seconds. “He became very honest afterward.” “So I noticed.” “Very suddenly.” “People sometimes crack under pressure.” Elena watched her. Vivian met the gaze without blinking. Eventually Elena looked away. “I should call someone.” “Probably.” “My sister.” “Good option.” “My lawyer.” “Possibly better.” Elena laughed unexpectedly. Then her face crumpled again. She turned away. “Damn it.” Vivian shifted closer. “Hey.” “I don't do this.” “Cry?” “Yes.” “Most people do.” “I don't.” “You're currently presenting strong counterevidence.” Elena laughed through the tears. “That was awful.” “It worked.” Elena wiped beneath her eyes. “I was standing there wearing her necklace.” “I know.” “He had the inscription changed.” “I heard.” “Do you understand how disgusting that feels?” “Yes.” Elena looked at her. Vivian's voice softened. “Yes. I think I do.” They spoke for almost an hour. At first about Michael. Then less about Michael. Elena owned an interior-design firm. She collected vintage perfume bottles. She hated cruise ships. She loved Paris and had not visited in seventeen years because Michael disliked France. Vivian stared at her. “You're telling me you've avoided Paris for seventeen years because your husband didn't like French people?” “He didn't dislike French people.” “He disliked France?” “He said it was pretentious.” “Your husband bought a twelve-thousand-dollar custom necklace engraved for the sexiest woman in the universe .” Elena started laughing. Properly this time. Vivian smiled. “There she is.” Elena shook her head. “You're terrible.” “I've been called worse.” “I believe that.” They ordered another drink. Elena said, “You keep looking at me.” “Yes.” “At least deny it.” “Why?” “Because I've been crying.” “You're still beautiful.” Elena looked down. “That was shameless.” “Yes.” “My marriage ended less than two hours ago.” “I know.” “You think this is a good time to flirt?” “No.” Elena looked up. Vivian smiled. “But I'm doing it anyway.” Elena laughed again. “You're very sure of yourself.” “Usually.” “With women?” “Especially.” Elena studied her. “Oh.” Vivian waited. Elena said, “Women.” “Yes.” “Only women?” “Yes.” Elena took a sip. “I kissed a woman once.” Vivian raised an eyebrow. “Once?” “In college.” “Was she terrible?” “No.” “Then why only once?” Elena smiled faintly. “Life.” “Life is frequently overrated.” Elena looked at her. “You really don't believe in subtlety.” “I believe in clarity.” “That sounds almost aggressive.” Vivian reached across the bar. She touched Elena's hand. Not with the part of herself that forced truth. That power always felt different. This was simply skin against skin. Warmth. Choice. Elena looked down at their hands. Vivian said, “Tell me to move it.” Elena remained still. “I should.” “That wasn't what I said.” Elena looked at her. “No.” Vivian's thumb moved lightly across her fingers. Elena's breathing changed. “You know exactly what you're doing.” “Yes.” “At least you're honest.” Vivian smiled. “I try.” Elena looked at Vivian's mouth. Vivian noticed. Elena noticed that she noticed. “You're impossible.” “Frequently.” Elena turned her hand beneath Vivian's until their fingers met properly. Vivian's expression softened. “You're sure?” “No.” Vivian began to move her hand away. Elena tightened her fingers. “But don't stop.” That was enough. III Outside the hotel, the evening had turned cool. Elena stood beneath the awning beside Vivian. “I don't want to go home.” “Then don't.” “That's an alarmingly simple answer.” “Most good answers are.” “I have clothes there.” “Buy more.” “My car is there.” “Get it tomorrow.” “My entire life is there.” Vivian looked at her. “No.” Elena frowned. “What?” “Your things are there.” Vivian stepped closer. “Your life is standing here.” Elena stared at her. Then smiled through the remains of the tears. “That was good.” “I have moments.” They stood facing one another. Elena said softly, “If I kiss you, this isn't revenge.” “I know.” “And it doesn't mean I'm suddenly beginning some enormous new relationship.” “Good.” “You don't sound offended.” “I'm not looking for enormous.” Elena laughed. “What are you looking for?” Vivian's eyes dropped briefly to her mouth. “Tonight?” “Yes.” “You.” Elena swallowed. “That is extremely direct.” “You've had enough lies for one day.” Elena took a step closer. “Then kiss me.” Vivian touched her cheek. Elena leaned into the hand. Their first kiss was gentle. The second wasn't. When they separated Elena rested her forehead against Vivian's. “I haven't done that in twenty-three years.” “With a woman?” “With anyone who wasn't Michael.” Vivian looked at her. “Do you want to stop?” Elena shook her head. “No.” She kissed Vivian again. IV Morning arrived through tall hotel windows. Elena sat barefoot on the edge of the bed wearing Vivian's white shirt, coffee held between both hands, while Vivian stood near the window in a dark silk robe. The burgundy dress hung over a chair. No necklace. No bracelet. No earrings. No ring. Elena looked at her bare left hand. “It's strange.” “What?” “I thought taking the ring off would hurt more.” “Maybe everything before it hurt enough.” Elena nodded. “That sounds right.” Vivian sat beside her. Elena leaned lightly against her shoulder. “Last night was…” She stopped. Vivian waited. “Unexpected.” “I'll accept that.” “Very unexpected.” “Still accepting it.” Elena laughed. Then she became serious. “This isn't going anywhere.” “No.” “You say that very easily.” “Would you prefer difficulty?” “No.” “Then no.” Elena smiled. “I don't think I could handle falling into something else right now.” “You shouldn't.” “And you're not going to ask for my number.” “No.” Elena looked at her. “That bothers me slightly.” Vivian smiled. “I know.” “You could pretend.” “That would defeat the theme of our relationship.” Elena laughed. “Relationship?” “Approximately twelve hours qualifies grammatically.” “Not emotionally.” “Agreed.” Elena rested her head against Vivian again. After a moment she said, “I'm going to Paris.” Vivian looked down at her. “Really?” “Yes.” “When?” “I don't know.” “Excellent.” “That makes no sense.” “It means you're making the decision before arranging the details.” Elena smiled. “I haven't done that in twenty years.” “Then you're overdue.” Elena dressed slowly. When she finished, the burgundy dress looked exactly as elegant as it had the evening before. Elena did not. She looked better. Not happier yet. Freer. At the door she turned. “I have to call Samantha.” Vivian raised an eyebrow. “That could be interesting.” “I don't want to fight with her.” “Good.” “I want to know whether she knows about the other women.” Vivian smiled faintly. “Probably a useful question.” “And then my attorney.” “Even more useful.” Elena reached for the door. Then stopped. “Vivian?” “Yes?” “One last kiss.” Vivian walked toward her. “You're becoming predictable.” “I've had twenty years of predictability. Allow me one morning.” Vivian kissed her. Slowly. Warmly. A goodbye. When they separated, Elena smiled. “I think I understand you.” “That would make one of us.” Elena laughed. Then she looked down at herself. “No jewelry.” Vivian followed her gaze. “You look good without it.” Elena touched her bare throat. “You know something?” “What?” “I do.” She opened the door. Vivian leaned against the frame. “Paris.” Elena smiled. “Paris.” Then she walked down the corridor in the burgundy dress and black heels, wearing nothing Michael had ever bought her. Vivian watched until the elevator doors closed. Some truths destroyed things. Others merely revealed that the destruction had happened long before anyone noticed. Vivian went back inside and poured the last of the coffee. From somewhere in the corridor came a man's voice. “I swear, honey, I have absolutely no idea who sent those flowers.” Metal touched the back of Vivian's tongue. Lie. Vivian closed her eyes. Then smiled. “Of course you don't.”