❛ THE LONGEST DAY ❜
— May ‘62
Nick had been up since dawn. He’d woken up and immediately slipped out of bed groggily sans his and Faye’s usual Saturday morning romp to get ready for a day he was only to be a bystander in. His wife, to his surprise, had gotten up before him, already busy in the bathroom when he walked in to take a piss, getting presentable for people coming to make her look presentable. Nick didn’t question it. He did have his own bathroom but hers was closer. An hour later he was in their conversation pit, shaved, showered, and sitting alone and away from all the action, already bored as he browsed the Los Angeles Times for something interesting to read, his second espresso on a small table at his side.
She’d put in this request for him to take part weeks ago, for moral support, and so he had no room to complain. According to Faye, this wouldn’t be like her normal one or two-day photoshoots. Cosmopolitan magazine wanted Hollywood’s enduring blonde bombshell to be professionally captured all over Los Angeles, starting here in their home. That had taken some convincing for Nick on Faye’s part. For obvious reasons, he preferred their privacy. She’d worn him down eventually with a Nicky here and an attentive fuck there. By the end of it, which might take several weeks, they’d have hundreds of photographs of her at home, at various beaches, at hotspots all around Los Angeles and Beverly Hills, and even a last day up at the Hollywood sign. Nick assumed he’d be required to support her at most, if not all of these locations.
He was bracing himself for all.
Their daughter Mia was on the floor in front of Faye, a witness to this big day, brushing their golden retriever Rudy’s snout, mimicking what was being done to her mother with one of the extra brushes the stylist had sweetly handed her. Rudy, like Faye, was always game for attention and sat there happily and let her, his tail thumping on the floor. A few months shy of three, Mia was already Faye in miniature. Same face, same blue eyes, even the same facial expressions, which sometimes caught Nick off guard. But, unfortunately to some, she had Nick’s same dark hair, a fact his dirty-blonde wife had been pointing out and lamenting since she was born. At this point, Nick was convinced she’d continue do so for the rest of their lives.
Matteo, their infant son, was out with their nanny who was running errands for the house. Unlike with Mia, Faye hoped their son did take after his father in the looks department.
“Watch his eyes, baby,” Nick said in a soft tone his daughter recognized as only for her, turning her head quickly to look at him and nodding obediently.
“Okay, Daddy,” she said before going back to brushing.
George Bartlett, Cosmopolitan’s chosen photographer and his wife’s long-time collaborator was at the far end of one of their couches fiddling with his equipment, with camera pieces and lenses spread out all over the carpet. The wardrobe stylist whose name Nick had already forgotten was turned towards another couch, spreading and straightening out of the all the clothing choices they’d brought with them. Neither man seemed in much of a hurry. And Nick knew how long it could take for his wife to get ready. For photoshoots, especially. Letting out as quiet a sigh as he could, Nick stared solemnly for a moment, shut the main section of the newspaper louder than he’d intended, tossed it aside, and reached for Sports.
It was going to be a long day.
In the absence of being able to say whatever she liked aloud ─ lest she disturb Mia sleeping so sweetly in her arms, or worse, prove Nick’s point ─ Faye opted for a particularly dramatic roll of the eyes in return to her husband’s suggestion that she was the one making the noise. Faye had never been one to be mindful of her noise level, but she’d made a renewed commitment to it with the birth of her daughter. For as much as Faye loved to hear the baby babble or watch her pretty blue eyes dart around in curiosity, she also loved it when she slept. The schedule Mia was on was not unusual for a newborn ─ or at least, so she’d been told by those more familiar with infant sleep schedules ─ but it was highly unusual for Faye. Despite the lavishly decorated bedroom that’d been made up for Mia, Faye had insisted upon having an additional bassinet placed in their spacious closet to keep her close. Though she held on to her belief that it’d been the right choice, it was impossible to not doubt it when they were woken up several times throughout the night.
When Nick spoke again about the sandwich that she’d left behind in the kitchen, she shushed him, and chased it with a whispered: “I wasn’t hungry!” She nodded her head towards the end table on her side of the bed, where a small notebook and tape measure sat. “I have to measure before bed anyway,” she added softly, “bread is bloating.”
With Mia just through her six week mark, Faye was about halfway through the agreed-upon absence she’d taken from the studio. She’d already attached herself to another film, and would be going into preproduction within another month or so. Though she had no proof to substantiate it, she’d gotten it into her head that her competitors were keen on seeing her body ruined by pregnancy and childbirth ─ and so she’d been determined to come back with her waist an inch smaller than it’d been when she’d left. “I want them to go home and rip their hair out after seeing me come back on the lot,” she’d said a few nights earlier, measuring tape wrapped round one thigh. “I’m still the head fucking hen, you know?”
She’d also hoped to keep her larger brassiere cup size ─ unfortunately, Mia being on formula had dashed that particular dream.
“Ruth says that this is good for her,” Faye said, glancing down at the sleeping baby before looking back at Nick. “She said it’s important, even.” A silent “so, there!” was communicated in her tone, though it lacked malice. The nanny they’d hired for Mia had played more housekeeper than childminder in those initial few weeks ─ a direct consequence of Faye’s desire to have the baby with her as frequently as possible ─ but Faye had nonetheless become an eager student to the woman’s wealth of knowledge on childcare, and asked incessant questions and voiced innumerable concerns on a daily basis. Ruth, who’d had a long history of minding the children of stars, had admirable patience for her. In return, Faye took much of her advice as law.
Despite her dedication to Ruth’s advice and her own desires to keep Mia with her, a lightbulb seemed to go off in her head after a comfortable moment of silence. It occurred to her that she had abandoned him in the kitchen, and she suddenly wondered if he’d felt put out by it. Her attention had certainly been divided since Mia had come home, but Faye was certain Nick was happy that she was as eager as she was. Still, the unexpected concern now sat in her mind, and within a few moments she was up and off the bed, Mia in tow. She settled the baby quietly in her bassinet and tried to not feel guilty at the relief that spread immediately through her arms, and when she returned from the spacious dressing room she made a beeline for Nick.
Leaning down, she returned the kiss he’d given her with a soft peck on his lips. “You’re not feeling ignored, are you, Nicky?”
Except she had been the hungry one. Not only that but she was also the one that specifically craved and requested one of his Italian sandwiches. Worse, this was the second time she’d done this that week. Not only could Nick recall all of this, practically word-for-word in each instance, but he could feel the temptation to lay it all out rise within him. From whatever they’d been at the start to husband and wife now, the want to prove the other wrong, especially in such trivial disagreements like this had yet to wane. But in the end, despite having all the ammunition necessary to claim his victory, he swallowed his pride and opted to just sit there and roll his eyes instead, even with the trigger so close and ready to be pulled. Besides, him winning yet again wouldn’t do or change a thing. He could already imagine her quickly pointing out that he was simply imagining things or misremembering.
He rolled his eyes again when he took a glance at the notebook and measuring tape on her nightstand. She’d been relentless since she started measuring herself, and while he understood why, she liked to explain it again and again to him even after he’d already gotten it. He’d only started having newfound interest recently when Faye hit just a little over a month since giving birth. Five weeks to be exact ─ their ideal wait time before having sex again. Since then, his wife’s days were spent doing little more than tending to their baby daughter, reading scripts, and getting fucked silly by her husband for the first time in months.
Or, rather, fucking him silly.
With specific measurement goals in mind, Faye had been more than happy to share in the workload. She’d been on top more often than he remembered; bouncing, grinding, wiggling to her heart’s content. Burning, sweating, and doing everything in her power to show those wannabes, also known as her peers, that she was still on top regardless of her absence. Lest they forget she’d started off this same year with winning an Oscar. Under these circumstances, Nick found that goddamn notebook and measuring tape almost tolerable, even if he was sometimes put off by her quickly running to the bathroom, notebook, measuring tape, and pen in hand post-coitus to make updates.
Nick had been recalling the night before in his head, when she’d been on top and facing away so that he could enjoy the view of the best ass in Hollywood when he noticed his wife suddenly perk up. To his surprise, she was up off the bed with Mia in tow and both in then out of the next room in a matter of seconds. He wasn’t complaining, but it was his turn to perk up when she suddenly approached him. She didn’t seem angry. Just somewhat worried. So, he suddenly felt better when she leaned over and kissed him on his lips with a soft, concerned look on her face. When she finally put her feelings into words, he leaned back in his chair with a smile before pulling her onto him so that she could straddle his lap.
❝ No, baby, ❞ he answered, trying to put her worries to bed, ❝ I don’t feel ignored, especially not in the last week, ❞ he added, referring to all the sex they’d finally been having again. ❝ I just wish you’d stop wasting my goddamn sandwiches. ❞ The widening of his smile as he looked directly at her betrayed his attempt at coming off as serious. Her sudden feelings of worry had quickly overshadowed any annoyance he’d felt. Faye was already convinced that her peers, or competitors as she liked to correct him, were out to pounce on both her absence and the affects of her pregnancy. He didn’t need to add to that by making her think she had an unhappy and unsatisfied husband, too.
❛ BABY TALK ❜
— NOVEMBER ‘59
In the final few weeks of her pregnancy, Faye had become convinced that every housewife in America was deranged ─ or at the very least, they were on the precipice of insanity.
After more than a decade spent in the industry, she had become accustomed to the early mornings, the long work days, and the late-night dinners and parties. Though it had realistically been a gradual shift from working full-time and enjoying all the parties and fanfare that went along with her Oscar win to staying home full-time; it felt very much like she’d suddenly woken up one morning with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and a closet full of clothes that were suddenly snug around her stomach. Having an open schedule didn’t suit her well ─ and Faye tested the limits of just how much time could be taken up with visiting friends and family, lounging out by the pool, playing with Rudy, shopping for anything and everything, exercising, or organizing and then reorganizing different rooms in their home. Invariably, there came a point during the day where she found herself wandering from room to room ─ usually with Rudy trotting eagerly behind her ─ at a loss of what to do to fill the time.
As she got closer to the end, that part of the day became the majority of her day.
“I think I hate being pregnant ─ or at the very least, I hate being this pregnant,” Faye had complained to Grace one afternoon during the end of her third trimester. Those last few weeks had been filled with incessant rib kicks by the baby, sleepless nights, and an endlessly frustrating constant feeling of breathlessness that had Faye at her wits’ end. Feeling guilty for her own admittance, she’d miserably questioned: “what if I hate being home with the baby, too?” While Grace had been perfectly reassuring in her answer that of course she’d love being with the baby, the fear had persisted, and she’d ended up crying about the same thing to Nick a few days later.
Suffice to say, that concern had fled her mind once baby Mia had been placed into her arms. Additionally, she could finally start to see ─ at least a little bit ─ why some women couldn’t leave the home once having a baby.
It had been just about six weeks since bringing home Mia from the hospital, and in that time it remained a rarity for her to be put down. Of course, it wasn’t just Faye who was content to hold the baby girl ─ aside from Nick, friends and family alike had been in and out of the house since she was about two weeks old ─ but it was certainly most often Faye. She held onto Mia so much that it often left her arms sore and heavy after the fact, which she promptly ignored the next time there was an opportunity to pick up the newborn.
Now that the little infant had passed the six-week mark and was starting to gain something of a personality ─ limited to smiling and cooing for the time being ─ it felt like there was even more of a reward in holding onto her. And when she was sleeping she looked just like a perfect doll; it felt unfair to leave her alone in the crib that had been situated in their massive master dressing room. That was how Faye found herself in a position such as the one she occupied at that moment: relaxed against the headboard of her and Nick’s large bed, with Mia sound asleep in her arms and Rudy resting comfortably at the foot of the mattress.
It was Rudy who noticed Nick’s approaching footsteps before Faye ─ but after the golden had raised his head at the sound of the noise, she’d picked up on it too. Before the door to the bedroom could even fully open, she’d uttered a “shush” in warning, and paired it with a whispered: “she just fell asleep!”
Nick had a good idea what he was walking into long before he nudged the door to the master bedroom open and walked through yet was somehow still disappointed to find his wife there like she was. The two of them had been having a nice bite to eat in their enormous kitchen, him leaning comfortably against the counter while she sat atop another, when Mia started crying out of nowhere. As babies do. Faye had leapt from the countertop and ran out of the room faster than he’d ever seen her, leaving Nick both shocked and awed.
That was thirty minutes ago.
Protected in his wife’s arms, Mia looked like she’d been asleep for a while; more than long enough for her mother to have put her down so that she could rejoin her husband in the kitchen. Not that it mattered now. The little sandwich Nick had made for her was practically solid now. Not one to waste anything, especially food, he’d finished his soon after watching her run out of the kitchen.
❝ You’re the one making noise, ❞ he pointed out in a harsh whisper.
As annoyed as he was for being abandoned longer than necessary, he had to admit that his wife was glowing as she sat there, simply holding their newborn daughter and leaning back against their tall, wide headboard. The alternative to her not being overly attentive like this was far worse than his annoyance and so could only act disappointed for so long.
Soon, his disappointed face went away.
During her pregnancy, which had seemed as taxing on him as it had been on her, Nick couldn’t shake the fear of her turning out to be an inattentive mother. Not uncaring, just uninterested, or lost. It’d only been a minor fear, but it was hard not to compare her pregnancy to his first wife’s, who was far more traditional and far more experienced thanks to her upbringing.
But his fears would be for nothing.
It took Nick all the convincing and sweettalk he could muster just to get her to let Mia out of her sight, let alone not hug her, hold her, and kiss her constantly. Not that Nick didn’t have the urge to do the same, but it was a world of difference when this was his third child and only her first. Not that he would ever admit that.
He already knew how unnerved she was by how casual he was about everything. Him pointing out that this wasn’t his first rodeo didn’t seem to help his case. She wanted him to be as nervous as her and so he had to pretend on occasion, just to make her happy.
The sight of the two of them in bed, with Rudy near the foot of it adding a picturesque quality to the whole scene, softened him enough to make him approach as quietly as possible until he was close enough, bend down, and kiss the top of his wife’s head.
❝ Your sandwich is like a rock now, ❞ he whispered.
He rolled his eyes when she shushed him again.
Tempting fate, he waited a minute before suggesting that she finally get up and put the baby down in the expensive crib they’d bought and placed in the other room. He’d only gotten halfway through the suggestion before she looked up with a steely blue gaze and glared at him. With a sigh, he shook his head, kissed her softly on the top of her head again, walked to the chair in the corner, and sat.
Despite her glare, he did notice how she lifted her head up just a touch for his kiss.
He’d thought about rounding their bed and sliding next to her, but then he had a vision of him making too much of a commotion doing it, startling the baby and provoking his wife’s ire. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with such consequences, and so was happy with the chair.
❛ DEVIL OR ANGEL ❜
— MARCH ‘60
There was just something about watching his wife suck another man’s cock. For Nick, it was equal parts arousing and infuriating. So, never indescribable, but certainly unspeakable. He’d watched her do it many times by now and how he felt about it each time was, well, it was still hard to say. Even watching her get fucked at the same time couldn’t move the needle, especially not in the moment. Like now. For her part, Faye wasn’t timid about any of it, which only added to his complicated feelings about it all. There was no hesitation, no nervous glance to where she thought he was, in search of some last-minute nod of approval or support for what she was doing. She’d sucked their cocks like she was sucking his ─ excited, gleeful, and eager to please. And she would’ve sucked each of them dry if they didn’t already have other plans for the both of them.
This being far from her first rodeo, Faye eventually positioned one behind her while she kept the other occupied with her mouth. All while taking advantage of one of their very expensive, very sturdy pool chairs. Whether she’d told the one behind her to put it in her ass or not, Nick didn’t hear, but that’s exactly where he put it. Faye, loud even during the most vanilla of sex, was howling. Nick did hear that. From there it was a brutal display to behold, which Nick knew was how she liked it.
That he could recall, one was playing her college-aged younger brother, the other his best friend. Nick couldn’t have said which was which. They both looked eerily the same to him. Corn-fed All-American white boys straight from Central Casting that were big enough to fit right in as linemen on L.A.’s own USC Trojans. The younger brother, or the best friend, was happily feeding the Faye Fairaway his ─ admittedly ─ impressively fat cock while the other was dutifully stuffing her cute, tight ass from behind. To Nick’s amusement, they looked both determined and just happy to be there.
They’d been invited under the guise of reading lines. Faye being the current, reigning Academy Award winner for Best Actress had more than enough sway now to require such a thing from her lesser co-stars. Granted, that reign would come to an end in just a month or so. As soon as she welcomed them into her home, she had the charm dialed up to 11. Soon enough, they were out by the pool sipping on drinks she’d made and served them, ever the considerate host. It was, she’d pointed out, surprisingly warm for March, even at night. Tragically, reading lines for the next day’s scenes got boring for Faye rather quickly and she found no protest from either man when her hands eventually found their way down their pants. By then, Nick had moved from the bedroom to the den where he could watch the scene unfold through the half-closed blinds.
Their lack of protest unnerved Nick, but he wasn’t surprised. Both men knew that she was married and knew who and what her husband allegedly was. Yet they still went along. If he wasn’t so impressed by their audacity, he might’ve had them whacked for it. As far as they knew, he was out in Vegas, completely oblivious his to wife’s escapades.
As an appetizer, Faye took turns blowing each of them before ─ to their surprise ─ fitting both of them in her mouth at the same time. Nick had seen her do this once or twice before, so was less surprised.
She had the mouth for it.
To Nick’s benefit, the reflection of the moon in the large window made it impossible for them to notice him. Not that they were looking. They were far too busy for that. Shamelessly, he just stood there watching, sipping on an Old Fashioned and surveying the hard, sweaty work being done right outside. He took it all in, savoring deep down what these two young men were doing to his wife just as much as what his wife was doing to these two young men. Nick had yet to touch himself, let alone pull out his cock and stroke it a few times while watching, but that wasn’t off the table. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. Regardless, he liked watching and he knew that she loved being watched. And though the show was well underway, she’d been giving it her all since the start.
Faye was the host and star after all.
All this considered, you’d never think there was an infant sleeping just down the hall, dreaming her innocent, infant dreams. Little Mia was six months shy from graduating to toddler and was sound asleep in her enormous crib in the master bedroom, unaware of all the fun her parents were able to have now that she’d settled into a more convenient sleep schedule. She’d only been asleep for about an hour, and would stay that way for three or four more. More than enough time for her famous ─ or infamous in Nick’s case ─ parents to satiate their unspeakable cravings.
Henry Cavill as Napoleon Solo
The Man From U.N.C.L.E., 2015 dir. Guy Ritchie
As compared to Faye’s typical inclination to want as much of Nick’s time as she could get her hands on, she’d been uncharacteristically encouraging of him flying out to Nevada in the days that had followed her decision to go cold turkey on the pills. In hindsight, she recognized that it was likely that exact out-of-character decision that had been showing Nick her hand, rather than playing subtle like she’d convinced herself she was.
While she had certainly placed doubt in the severity of Doctor Keane’s prognosis of what that self-administered detox would look like ─ he’d talked about epileptic fits and hallucinations amongst the typical crowd of nausea, insomnia, and body aches ─ she’d not doubted that the process would be uncomfortable and likely embarrassing to observe. For Faye, who never liked to feel sick, look sick, or have an audience for being sick ─ combined with just how stupid she felt about her ignorance regarding the seriousness of the drugs in the first place ─ she’d thought it best to get ahead of things by downplaying it all and riding it out at home alone. She’d insisted upon how insignificant the consequences would be, and had doubled down on that insistence when Nick had proved, disappointingly, to fall more in line with her doctor’s line of concern.
It had been hard to maintain her chosen façade when she’d started to get sick, though vanity had precluded her from giving in immediately and announcing defeat. Even after a first day spent vomiting followed by a sleepless, uncomfortable night, Faye ─ feeling embarrassed more than anything else ─ had sworn up and down that she was already feeling perfectly fine. Nonetheless, her insistence that it was just morning sickness failed to convince.
Ultimately, she would have been lying if she claimed to be unhappy that he’d stayed and taken care of her through those miserable handful of days. His presence alone had been an undeniable comfort, and his praise of her had been sorely needed when her head had been otherwise filled with nothing but a mantra of “how could I be so stupid?” The result of those few days had been an upswing of affection on Faye’s part, which by and large rarely lacked in the first place. For Nick’s part, he’d seemed content enough to receive and match it ─ as was evidenced by the morning and afternoon which had preceded their arrival to the studio for the interview’s filming.
It was no doubt as a result of that affection that despite her nearly-unbridled nerves, her husband was not entirely unsuccessful in his efforts; and her anxious frown faded briefly for favor of a fond smile that appeared as his eyes met hers. With the combination of his and Shirley’s compliments her momentary unease with her dress was lost, and she was able to fall in line with her acting teacher’s line of thinking, commenting aloud: “right ─ what does he know about it, anyway?” Her willingness to agree with placing a low value on Errol’s input, however, seemed to fade a moment later when Nick took to the wet bar. While Gene shook his head and Shirley readily asked for a Tom Collins, Faye lit her cigarette and sullenly parroted Errol’s warning: “there’s an audience out there.” Shirley, who was unconvinced by Faye’s apparent decision to refrain, signaled to Nick to make two cocktails, rather than one.
Leaning back in her seat, Faye nursed the cigarette between her manicured fingers and ran through the major beats of the interview in her head for the umpteenth time since arriving on the lot. Though there was no way to effectively block and plan for every word that would leave her lips that night, Billy had met with her earlier to rehearse the general flow of the segment. There would be some time spent at the top discussing the event that had been her wedding (“why are you always married when you’re here?” Billy had teased when he’d first seen her, before turning to an assistant and commenting: “people’ll like that ─ I’ll say that later!”), which would flow into talk on All But One and the Oscar nomination. They’d spend most of their time there, he’d promised, before ending on some questions of what comes next.
When they’d talked earlier, Billy had asked if Faye would be leaving behind the character type that had made her a household name: she’d offered the lukewarm response of “I like to play all kinds of characters,” and had yet to come up with anything better. A bolder statement had its risks ─ and much to her discomfort, she wasn’t entirely sure of what her real answer was, anyway. Caught up in her thought as she was, she’d forgotten her decision to be abstinent as Shirley proffered the cocktail Nick had made, and wordlessly drank from it. When she finally did speak, she did so as if she was already halfway through a thought: “─ maybe…maybe it’s better if we don’t talk about the picture as much. I don’t think people want to really listen to that, and what if it turns them off and makes them not want to see it at all? Short and sweet is better, right? They’d rather hear about the wedding, don’t you think?”
“It should stay the way it is,” Gene replied, brows narrowed as he regarded his client. “This is really no different than what you do every other day of the week ─ once you’re out there you’ll be just fine. Changing anything will make it worse.”
Errol’s return to the room signaled the ten minute mark, and the smile on his lips ─ perhaps an olive branch following his unpleasant departure ─ was quickly replaced by a frown as he firstly caught the tail-end of the conversation, and secondly spied the drink in Faye’s hand. “Nothing is changing,” he said decidedly, “let’s get moving.”
Nick threw Shirley a discrete smile at her signal, then made himself at home at the fully-stocked wet bar in the corner. Time being of the essence, he made a drink for all four of them but kept it simple ─ a Tom Collins for each of them, but filled only about halfway up the Collins glass. He worked deftly, but was hampered by his ignorance of the setup. If this was his bar at home, he would’ve had them made in half the time, knowing the location of every glass, bottle, and ingredient there like the back of his hand. Still, he was handing Shirley two glasses just a few minutes later, then Gene the third. Despite declining the drink at first, he took his with a nod and downed it all in one gulp, which amused Nick, who nodded back and downed his almost as fast. It wasn’t his best work, and the gin they supplied wasn’t his favorite, but he knew it’d get the job done calming everyone’s nerves.
He was back in the far corner when Faye started questioning the whole interview again, and quickly turned his attention to Gene and Shirley, both looking disapproving just as fast as she made her suggestions.
At no point was Nick tempted to interject.
Instead, he just sat there quietly and enjoyed the calm he knew would end as soon as Errol returned. Looking around randomly, he caught sight of himself in a mirror across the room and adjusted his tie. It must’ve turned a little while he was making their drinks twice as fast as he would’ve liked. Once he got it to where he liked, he turned his attention back to Shirley who was now working on Faye’s jewelry
─ the telltale sign that she was just about ready to go.
Nothing is changing ─
Nick’s eyes quickly darted to the door by Gene where Errol had just made his return known. He hadn’t caught sight of the smile he’d walked in with, catching only the frown that he had now. It wouldn’t have surprised Nick if the older man had walked in that way, so wasn’t surprised by his attitude towards the group as he started waving for them to move out. That Errol seemed to look at everyone but him while doing so didn’t surprise Nick, either.
When Faye quickly turned back to look at him, looking as nervous as ever, he just smiled and winked at her. And when she waved her hand at him insistently, he was quick to his feet.
Nick would’ve happily held her hand and led her out, but when he saw her get swallowed up by Gene and Shirley, feeding her final instructions in hushed, hurried whispers, he took his time exiting the room, happy to trail the team and act like some innocent bystander.
Surprisingly, Errol was happy to trail a little behind, too.
❝ You really know how to bring the mood down, don’t you, Errol? ❞ Nick made sure to say this once the other three were farther down the hallway. He didn’t need his wife to overhear and add to her worries.
For what seemed like a long time, both men seemed to stare coolly at each other. To the older man’s credit, he was brazen enough to size Nick up without flinching. Nick could tell that there was a lot the man wanted to say; some pithy comeback or biting remark. Nick showed he welcomed it with the slightest smile on his face, happy to receive whatever Errol came up with. Then the older man’s expression changed, going almost blank. Nick could practically see him swallowing his pride and biting his tongue. He was just smart enough not to take the bait and start shit with his client’s husband. His client’s gangster husband.
Amused, Nick laughed and lightly patted Errol’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go support my wife.”
Nick knew that Errol didn’t fear him, but he also knew this was due to a certain type of arrogance he only ever found in Hollywood types, not some elevated sense of bravery or heroism.
Eventually, the two men began to follow the group, which Nick noticed had gotten bigger since he last looked their way, now flanked by what looked like one of the producers and a couple of assistants. When Faye looked back in search of him, which he knew she’d do, he reassured her with a wave and another smile. Errol, knowing the attention wasn’t for him, just kept on walking, expressionless. Nick didn’t look, but he could feel the frown on the man’s face, which only amused him more. He was tempted to grab the man by his collar, drag him back into the now empty dressing room, and give him a medium shellacking. He’d certainly done worse in his time. Instead, he kept on walking, letting the idea live on only in his imagination.
Try as she did to remember the details that were lost in the haze of drugs and drinking, she could reach no decisive answer on who between the two of them had been the one to instigate the hedonistic evening. She was prepared, of course, to defend herself against any potential accusations from Nick ─ but the lack of confidence she felt in taking that defensive position was a glaring issue that she knew had the potential to cause her to fold. The two of them had proven themselves plenty of times over to be jealous and possessive people, and it was uncomfortable to imagine something outside of that norm. In her efforts to try out putting the blame all onto Nick that morning, she’d attempted to think up a scenario in her head where she could find herself in a similar position, only with another woman in the bedroom instead of a man. Frustratingly, she failed in convincing herself that she’d be eager to be the instigator in that case.
But, even if she had been the one to propose it ─ and she certainly wasn’t ready to take ownership of that ─ Nick had explicitly allowed it. Whether or not he’d enjoyed it remained a concern.
Worse than that concern was what stood out chief amongst Faye’s blurry and disjointed memories of the evening: what had gone on between her and the bellhop while Nick had been away from the hotel room for what had felt like hours. It had been well over one year since the last time she’d been with anyone other than Nick ─ and longer still since she’d been with anyone for any reason other than to spite Nick ─ and she was unsure if what she’d done meant that she’d cheated on him. What they’d all been doing beforehand had, again, been undoubtedly with her husband’s express permission ─ even with his encouragement. She’d told herself all morning that they would’ve reached the same conclusion had Nick been in the room, and so it was okay ─ that it was impossible he would’ve been opposed to it, given that he’d been the one to embolden Paolo to have her suck him off while Nick had fucked her.
Or at least, she thought that was how it had all gone.
With that in mind, she convinced herself that it definitely wasn’t cheating: the bellhop had been a glorified toy, and maybe Nick had wanted her to play with the younger man while he’d been away. It was quite the stretch to reach that conclusion from her clear memory of him telling the two of them to do nothing until he returned, but she forced it to make sense in her head. That was just part of the game, she had told herself, he wasn’t being serious. More importantly, she reminded herself that she wouldn’t want to cheat on him, and certainly not with some nobody from Italy who just happened to be a fan of hers.
She attempted to contrast these worrisome thoughts with reassurances that their night had ended in a good place: she could vaguely recall the soothing pressure of the hot water, affectionate touches and kisses while washing away the remnants of the long evening, and happily slipping into fresh sheets at the end of the evening. If he’d been mad about it, she reasoned, he wouldn’t have bothered to shower with her ─ and maybe he wouldn’t have even slept in the bed with her.
But he was mad that morning, or at the very least not happy; and despite all her mental gymnastics to convince herself all had been well she could not overcome that reality. Her simple question, which she’d hoped would somehow have the power to return Nick to some kind of normal, fell flat. Faye’s shoulders sagged slightly in response, and a nervous flush bloomed on her cheeks and across the top of her chest. Her lips formed a silent “oh” in recognition of his stilted answer, and she lingered in the return of that uncomfortable silence as she contemplated her dramatic conclusion that she’d ruined her marriage before she’d even finished her honeymoon.
Unable to withstand that miserable reality for very long, it was not long before Faye broke. “You’re upset,” she said, feeling her heartbeat pick up as she did so. “I think it was a mistake,” she continued quickly, eager to get ahead of the argument she’d already played out in her head, “ ─ too much to drink, and then the coke, and things must’ve just ─ they must’ve just got carried away. That’s all.”
Nick felt relief wash over him as Faye seemed to fold first, pushing them headfirst towards the elephant in the room. While not entirely ideal in general, at least they might get on with it now and he had the satisfaction of outlasting her yet again. Before she had, in between his stilted answer to her only seconds ago and her breaking now, he’d been failing to steer away from anything from last night. He just couldn’t get the image of his wife’s pouty lips wrapped tightly around another man’s cock out of his head. Happy. Willing. Eager. And it was the same when she had sat on that poor bellhop’s face and fed him her perfect, almost legendary cunt. Yes, he’d started remembering that that happened, too. He was only a second away from asking himself whether he’d love to see her do all that again when she finally broke.
She wasn’t quite sputtering, and her speech wasn’t as stiff as his had been, but the fast pace in which she was talking was tell enough. He did her the favor of actually looking up at her halfway through, listening intently as she seemed to reason with herself almost as much as she was reasoning with him. Of course, this made him wonder if it was guilt talking; wanting to get ahead of any accusations he was about to sling. This made his eyes narrow as she continued, but by the time she was done he had relaxed again, still unsure of his evidence and of hers.
Nick’s immediate reaction was to clear his throat again, trying to buy himself some time to think of the best way to respond. Overall, he knew she had folded because she didn’t want this all to linger, especially right before their chauffeured drive to Milan, which would take anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour depending on traffic. With no peace, the drive would prove to be a long, torturous trip for them in the backseat.
Prematurely, he opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. He let another awkward silence permeate again, even as he watched his wife closely, imagining her pleading with him through her beautiful, blue gaze. This suddenly softened and hardened him. He agreed that this couldn’t continue; not for the rest of the trip, not even for the rest of that morning. Finally, he swallowed hard, some of his pride in tow, and gave up any notion of blame in this particular instance. What was left of his pride wouldn’t let him appear weak, though, even if it was only his wife with him in that suite. Finding his resolve, he stood from his chair and rounded the table like he was rounding on her, soon towering over her with a look that meant he was not to be fucked with.
It was a cold stare he hadn’t used on her in a long time.
Casually, he leaned against the table in front of her and reached for her with his hand, ignoring the brief flinch she made before he lifted her chin with a curled index finger so that she was looking up right at him. ❝ I am your husband, ❞ he started, his voice firm. ❝ And you are my wife, my property, and, ❞ here, his voice softened just enough for her to notice, ❝ my love. Understood? ❞
In contrast to before, Nick was suddenly able to look directly into her eyes with his own blue pair without forcing it, easily maintaining that hard, dominant look that seemed almost impossible mere seconds ago.
But after giving him the answer she knew she had better give, Nick still wasn’t completely satisfied. He knew that the imbalance of power he was feeling was probably imaginary; only foolish thoughts in his head. Mere jealousy. Still, his ego ─ dare, sensitivity ─ would not allow him to take any chances. With her dainty chin still slightly in his grasp, he nodded his head then smiled a cool, reassuring smile at his wife. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the time on the grandfather clock against the far wall. Soon, the hotel staff would be back to help them take their things to the car that would take them to the airport. They both knew that. But there was just enough time for Nick to get his final point across to his wife. That realization was enough to widen his smile and turn it from icy into something almost playful.
❝ Good, ❞ he said. ❝ Now get up, go to the bed, bend over, and lift up your dress. ❞
Nick couldn’t have known ─ then ─ how taboo things would get for them going forward. Far worse ─ or better ─ than what they’d done the night before. Far more than what either of them thought they were capable of not only at that very moment, as newlyweds, but ever. For now, Nick was under the impression that asserting his dominance again would soothe his bruised ego and ease his misgivings for at least a little while. Hopefully long enough to make the last leg of their trip a pleasant one. His daughters were waiting for him, after all. Returning to the status quo here and now seemed like the most reasonable thing to do. And, he couldn’t have known ─ then ─ that they’d be doing what they’d done all over again, and more, just two days later in New York.