Page 35 of The Yes Factor

“Well, here we are again. Two middle-aged women out for brunch. I refuse to talk any more about last night, or about dating. I’m over it.” Bex takes a gulp of her Bloody Mary.

“Come on, we are not middle-aged. And what’s so bad about brunch?” I can see she’s still in shock about what happened with Brad, even though she’s putting on a strong game face. That she ordered a Bloody Mary instead of a mimosa says it all.

“Look, it could have been worse,” I continue in a weak attempt to cheer her up. How do you console a friend who went out on a blind date with a felon wanted in multiple states? “You totally dodged that bullet, um, bait. Sorry, couldn’t help that one. I guess his outfit should have been a sign! What sane man wears a fishing vest on dry land, let alone to a place like The Pearl and The Girl? I should have pulled an intervention right from hello,” I say, taking responsibility for what was, yet again, a disaster of my own making.

“The thing that scares me the most is that even with the fishing vest, I thought we could have had something. I’m tired of this game. I don’t think I can handle any more of it. I’m single and that’s fine by me.”

“Well, you and your bag handled yourself just fine last night. When did you get such a strong arm? You wound that thing up like Babe Ruth. Brad won’t be running to home base any time soon!” It may be too soon to joke about it but Bex’s bowling ball revenge was one of the best things I’ve seen in my life. I wanted to cheer and applaud right there in the lobby of the Spade.

Bex cracks a small smile in spite of herself. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. I still can’t believe I let you get me into that mess. Why would you even think that I’d be okay with a millionaire matchmaking service? I’ve told you countless times that I don’t care about all that.” She pauses and gives me a cold look. “I know it means a lot to you. Look at your bag.” Bex points to my Chanel purse. “That probably costs more than my monthly mortgage.”

Bex is taking her anger out on me and after what she went through last night, I don’t blame her. I look at my purse and sigh deeply. She’s right, it probably did cost more than her monthly mortgage. It’s my crutch in London, my little status symbol that helps me deal with women like Clarissa who wield their designer wares as if we live in a logo’d caste system. The purse has become a piece of my armor. Armor I’ve been building around me so slowly, yet so strongly, it’s taken me this time with Bex to see that it’s suffocating me. The LA sunshine and this roller-coaster ride I’m on with Bex is bringing me back to me. For the first time, it feels like I’m taking a long hard look at myself, and I’m a stranger.

“You want to know the story of this purse?” I challenge. A knot is starting to twist in the pit of my stomach, but I ignore it. It’s time to tell Bex the truth. She deserves it, and I don’t think I can hold it in anymore.

“Another sample sale? Hopefully, you haven’t lost another toenail because of it.”

“I wish. I would rather have lost all ten toenails than how I ended up with it.” Bex’s clenched jaw relaxes as she turns toward me with interest, and I continue. “Ethan was in Paris on a huge case that’d he’d brought in shortly after making partner. He felt that this was his moment to prove his worth. I don’t remember what it was all about. A bank in Monaco had been doing dodgy transactions with high net worth clients in France. Some tax thing.

“I was back in London, still unpacking boxes at our new flat in Chelsea. The upstairs neighbors were doing renovations and it was a mess. Workers were stomping in and out of the building all the time. Then, on a Sunday of all days, one of them cracked a main pipe, and I woke up to a gushing cascade of water and crumbling sheet rock that flooded our kitchen. It was a nightmare. Ethan usually deals with the house stuff and I had no idea what to do.”

“What does this have to do with the damn purse?” Bex impatiently takes another sip of her Bloody Mary.

“I’m getting there, hold on. So, the neighbors didn’t think that they should pay for the repairs and tried to offload all the liability to the builders who wouldn’t even speak to me when I’d try to approach them about it. I knew Ethan was busy in Paris building a case against tax scammers, but I needed him to build a case against the builders…” The memory of this still frustrates me.

“I’d texted Ethan dozens of times, but he hadn’t gotten back to me. I know how he can disappear into cases, so I wasn’t too worried. I finally called his hotel, since I wasn’t getting through to him on his cell, and in my best/worst high school French asked to be connected to Ethan, but the front desk refused to put any calls through unless I knew his room number. Which, of course, I didn’t. In my garbled French, I went on to explain that I was Ethan’s wife, Madame Davis. The clerk replied that he couldn’t connect me to the room of Monsieur et Madame Davis and asked again if I knew the room number. I guess because of my bad French he thought that I was asking for Ethan’s wife, not that I was his wife.”

Bex nearly chokes on her celery stick as she inhales sharply. “What!”

I keep going, even though recounting this is killing me.

“I was in shock. Ethan had checked in to the hotel with his so-called wife, probably some twenty-something paralegal or a Parisian temptress he’d picked up there. I called Clarissa in tears, but she didn’t understand why I was so upset. She said it was part of the trade-off. That Ethan and Alan worked so hard, who cared if they had an out-of-town fling. I was Madame Davis, not that random woman in the hotel room, who by now I envisioned to look like Gigi Hadid.

“I sent SOS texts to Ethan, and he finally called back. When I confronted him, he confessed, saying it was no big deal. Like eating a cheeseburger. Those were his exact words! Not something you do all the time, but every now and then you get a craving. When he came back from Paris, he brought me this bag.” I plonk the purse onto the table, “So, this is my consolation prize.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? A cheeseburger!” Bex is outraged. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Why’d you call Clarissa instead of me?”

“Because it would have sounded like whining. You’re so busy with Maddie and when it happened you were at the tail end of your divorce, and I didn’t want to bother you with my stupid drama. Besides, the whole thing is just too midlife crisis cliché to talk about.” I lean back in my chair, emotionally exhausted.

“Liv, it’s not stupid drama. And fuck midlife crisis. Life is crisis. We’re all living our own crisis, midlife or otherwise. And don’t use Maddie as an excuse. You know you can call me anytime.”

“Thank you,” I say, genuinely grateful.

“How come you aren’t furious? The Liv I know would have had Ethan’s stuff in trash bags on the curb. You sound almost…at peace with it.” Bex shakes her head, perplexed.

“I wanted to go to couples counseling, but Ethan didn’t think we needed it. He said it wasn’t a big deal and I guess I just accepted that as normal. I didn’t have many people in London I could confide in at the time. I was still trying to fit in with his crowd where everyone thought it was vulgar to show emotion. Stiff upper lip and all of that English emotional suppression. I’d moved halfway around the world to build a life with Ethan, I didn’t want to throw it all away. And you know me, I’m stubborn.”

Bex nods her head. “Yup, you are, especially since you’re still with him.”

“I don’t know how to explain it. Something inside me died, the dream I had about marriage. It became a wound in my heart that scabbed into a hard stone. I pushed any hurt away from me—didn’t even process it. Just batted it all away. I learned how to live with numbness.” I stare down into my now empty mimosa glass, which is the perfect mirror of how I feel. Empty.

“Liv, when did you get so lost? You’re my ride or die partner in crime. You should not be feeling like this. I had hoped everything was okay with you and Ethan, I mean, as much as any marriage is good. When you told me about Francois, I was absolutely floored. But now, knowing all of this, I can see it’s been a long time coming.”

Bex pauses to poke around at the bottom of her glass with the half-eaten celery stick before she continues quietly. “I should have told you this a long time ago, but, Ethan hit on me at your engagement party.”

“What?” I stutter in disbelief.

“I’m so sorry. I should have told you, but I waved it off as him being drunk. You were so happy and I didn’t want to ruin that by saying something.”

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