Farewell, Dorothy Parker (22 page)

“My point exactly.”

“Mrs. Parker, I am not fooling around. I’m going to close the book and get rid of you. I simply can’t have you in my life anymore.” She was crying now.

“But you need me.”

“Not anymore.”

“What about Malcolm?”

“I don’t need your help with Malcolm.”

“Who else can spy on him for you?”

“I don’t give a damn about spying on him,” Violet said.

“But it could be your only hope of winning custody.”

Violet rose and approached the dresser, where the Algonquin guest book lay open. She picked it up with two hands, closed it, and tucked the book under her arm.

“I’ll find another way,” she said to no one.

Chapter 24

Violet followed the scent of bacon and coffee into the kitchen, where Michael was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. She cleared her throat.

He turned and smiled. “Good morning.”

“You’re making breakfast,” she said, tightening her robe. She didn’t know what else to say.

“Figured it was the least I could do. I have a class this morning, and I have to scoot out early. I didn’t want you to think I was one of those guys who took off with the sunrise.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said.

“I wanted to.”

She crossed her arms and looked around, searching for something to say. “I’m sorry you missed your friend’s gig last night.”

He laughed. “I’m not.”

Michael was happy. Of course, she thought. The aggressive hellcat who had summoned him to her bedroom last night was probably the woman of his dreams. How disappointed he would be to discover Violet was nothing like her.

“Sorry I can’t give you a good-morning hug right now,” he said, holding up a spatula and a measuring cup filled with pancake batter to show her his hands were full. “But I’ll take a kiss.”

She stood, frozen.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Violet tucked her hair behind her ears. “We need to talk,” she said, pushing herself to get this over with. If she had learned anything from her breakup with Carl, it was that a quick end was best.

“What is it?”

“This is…uh, moving a little fast for me.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Last night,” she said. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake.”

He put down the cooking implements and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s not you. It’s—”

“Was I too fast? Too slow? Was there something—”

“Honestly, no. You were…Last night was wonderful. Perfect. But I’m just not ready.”

“Violet, I never would have pushed myself on you. But you called me upstairs, and you were dressed in that—”

She felt herself flush. This was excruciating. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. You have to go.”

“You want me to leave?”

She nodded.

“But Violet, why? Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

Be strong, she told herself. Don’t cave, or you’ll just wind up dragging this on like you did with Carl. Only it will be worse, because the day he discovers you’re not the woman he thought you were, he’ll walk out on you. And that would just be too much to bear.

“I’m sorry,” she said, then turned and left the room. She went upstairs to her bedroom and didn’t come out again until she heard the click of the front door closing behind him.

Chapter 25

Violet sat in the study in front of her laptop, trying to compose a review of the movie she had just seen. The guest book was in the corner of her desk, shut tight and tied with a string, even though she had placed it well out of Woollcott’s reach. She just wasn’t taking any chances. And one of these days, when she had the gumption, she would return it to the Algonquin with an apology.

The little dog trotted into the room and put his paws on the desk, as if trying to scramble onto the surface. She picked him up and held him on her lap. He whimpered as he tried to escape her grasp and reach the book.

“Sorry, boy,” she said, as she stroked him. “I know you miss our friends. I do, too. But we can’t open that terrible thing. Not anymore.”

She soothed him with a few scratches in his favorite spots. Then she put him down and tried to focus on her work. Dorothy Parker had nothing to do with the movie she was reviewing. Neither did Woollcott nor Michael nor Delaney nor anything else in her life.

Compartmentalize, she told herself.

Compartmentalize. For Violet, it was practically a mantra. Indeed, it had to be for anyone who considered herself a fair movie critic. She simply could not let the emotional turmoil of her life affect her work.

With this particular film review, that was going to be a challenge. It was, God help her, about an orphan involved in a custody battle. Okay, so it wasn’t about a smart, funny, maddening thirteen-year-old girl,
but a baby boy found in the most banal of places, a trash can. And the foundling was being fought over by the homeless woman who had discovered him and a powerful couple with more money than heart. Violet was in such a weakened emotional state that she wept from beginning to end.

Objectively, she knew the film wasn’t any good. It was maudlin and manipulative, and some of the performances were so over the top she cringed just thinking of them. Plus, the swelling, corny soundtrack was almost embarrassing. Even the title,
A Foundling’s Story,
was sappy.

But how could she slam a movie that had touched her heart so deeply?

If she wasn’t so furious with Mrs. Parker, she would be discussing it with her right now. But what was the point? She knew Mrs. Parker would say:
Don’t get too caught up in being cute. Or mean. Just give an honest review about what made it so terrible. And if it touched you? Well, for God’s sake, say so.

Violet’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few moments, and then she began:

From there, Violet summarized the plot, identifying the key moments in which the director could have made unexpected choices but never did. She ended it by writing:

There. It was just right. She wasn’t telling anyone to stay away. In fact, she encouraged a certain type of viewer to see it while warning them about the movie’s shortcomings. Was it a more positive review than the movie deserved? No doubt other critics would think so. But it was a fair review, and she would stand behind it.

As she started to proofread it, the phone rang. It was probably Michael, who had called again and again, leaving impassioned messages. But she didn’t call back, and wouldn’t. She didn’t even go to her next kung fu class, as she simply couldn’t face him again. She knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever, as Delaney and Kara had become friends and were eager to see each other again. But she just wasn’t ready.

She picked up the handset next to her and glanced at the caller ID. It was Delaney, which surprised her. Violet looked at the clock. It was almost ten p.m.

“Everything okay?” Violet asked.

The response came in sobs.

“Del? What’s the matter?”

“It’s my fault,” the girl choked out.

“Take a deep breath, sweetie. Tell me what’s going on.”

“She was being such an asshole.”

“Who?” Violet said, though she already had a pretty good idea.

“I had a big fight with…
her.
”

Sandra, Violet thought, holding on to the phone with two hands. Please, God, let this just be some overblown adolescent drama.

“Start from the beginning,” Violet said.

“She enrolled me in Wildwood this summer, without even asking if I wanted to go,” Delaney said. Violet understood that her niece was talking about the day camp she had attended when she was younger.

“Wildwood!” the girl continued. “It’s for little kids!”

“I know,” her aunt said, sympathetically.

“So I told her, ‘No way, I’m not going.’ And she said that I have to because she already gave them a deposit. So I said, ‘That’s not my problem; you should have checked with me first.’ Then she got really pissed off and called me ungrateful. So I said if she thinks I’m such a little piece of shit, she should just send me back to Aunt V.”

Violet swallowed hard. She could see where this might be going. But she pressed on. “Then what happened?” she asked.

“She got even madder and said that I could just cross that off my list because she knows what kind of person you are. So I said, ‘Oh, yeah? Well, Aunt V told me she’ll never stop fighting for custody. And she’s going to win, too.’ ” The girl started to sob.

It was just what she had feared. Now Sandra knew Violet was in contempt of court for discussing the case with Delaney.

“It’s okay, Del,” she lied. “It’s going to be fine.”

“No, it’s not! It’s
not
going to be fine! Cruella De Vil turned all red
and started screaming to the tan one, ‘She defied the judge! She’s in contempt! Open the champagne, because we just won custody!’ ”

“God,” Violet said.

“Then she told me I was going to Wildwood whether I liked it or not.”

Violet put her head in her hands. This custody battle was crumbling before her eyes. Delaney’s weeping grew louder, and with each choking sob, Violet’s heart broke a little more. Poor Del. It was all so hopeless now.

I’ve let her down, Violet thought. I opened my mouth and destroyed the girl’s world.

Still, she couldn’t let Delaney know the fight was all but lost. She would find out soon enough. Right now, the girl needed a bit of hope or she would wind up blaming herself.

“Delaney,” she said, “let me ask you something. Do you think that I would ever give up on you?”

The sobbing stopped as the kid took a jagged breath. “No,” she said.

“Okay, then. Let’s make a pact to be strong.”

“You don’t think it’s over?”

The note of hope in Delaney’s voice sharpened Violet’s focus. There had to be something she could do.

She glanced up at the Algonquin guest book. Of course—her secret weapon. She leaned forward and untied the string.

“I still have a few tricks up my sleeve,” she said.

Chapter 26

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Dorothy Parker asked, as she sipped her drink.