The Queen's Confession

Rowan

Crying all night is an exhausting endeavor. I examine myself briefly in the mirror of the guest bathroom. I look exactly like I feel, of course. I shuffle into the shower, not even caring that the water is ice cold. My body reacts with tension as the icy blast hits me, but my mind is still dulled by fatigue and something worse.

The black tar of anger that gets in all the cracks of my brain and makes my thinking so sticky.

I'm pissed at Riley. He had no right to blame me for what Aidan did.

Just because I had sex with Aidan once—okay, a bunch of times, but still I count it as one awful mistake—just because I had sex with Aidan once does not give him some kind of squatter's rights to my body. He had no right to touch me, to back me against the wall, to force a violent and unpleasant kiss on me. He's lucky I just gave him a warning ball squeeze instead of biting his grungy tongue off.

I'm pissed at Aidan, too. And at Dev for making this situation ten times worse, but my anger at them is nothing compared to my anger at Riley. He says he loves me, but just like before, it feels like his love is conditional.

Men are so fucking stupid. Chili has the right idea. She steers clear of romantic entanglements with guys because they are too much hassle to deal with.

After the shower has done nothing more than wake my indignation, I realize I have no clothes in this room anymore.

Fuck.

Naked is not how I want to confront Riley this morning. I've spent enough time naked and kneeling for that man. Maybe my dad is right. Maybe we are not solid. Maybe this is all wrong. Maybe we can't save this, no matter how much I love him.

Well, whatever is going to happen, I'm down cowering and crying. I call my mother and ask her if she will meet me for lunch. I don't go out during the day without Riley, and he rarely desires public outings, preferring to stay home where he can move around without the chair. My mother is surprised but immediately agreeable.

I wrap up in the comforter and march through the house, expecting to find Riley still asleep. It's 9am, but he doesn't have PT today. He's not asleep. He's in his office, on a headset, talking calmly as he paces back and forth. He's not using his walker but holding onto the wall for support.

This is the way he negotiates deals. He says he thinks better on his feet. He paces and prods, walks and wheedles until he gets what he wants. I pause in the doorway. His eyes flit to me. He looks absolutely white. From pain or exhaustion, I can't tell.

His expression is unreadable as he says into his headset, "The promotional tour and the half season agreement is no longer acceptable, after what happened in London this weekend. I've already got sworn affidavits from the club restroom attendant, a club patron who walked in on the scene unbeknownst to Row but who went for security, and the doctor who treated Rowan. When she wakes today, Rowan's own statement will be taken but it will state that Mosteller paid a restroom attendant to leave so he could corner Row and physically intimidate her. He propositioned her. When she refused him, he forced her against a wall and kissed her while she struggled to free herself. Then, he threw her against the stall, hard enough to give her a head injury that needed to be treated by a physician. That's sexual assault any way you cut it. He's the one that should be in jail right now, and he would be if I had been with her in London, and I wouldn't have given a good goddamn about the bad PR for the show, because I know what you did last year.

"It was a top down decision to push Mosteller and Rowan together over and over off the set, wasn't it? You were trying to drive a wedge between my wife and I, because my concern for health was just too much of an inconvenience to you lot. It's quite ironic that the cast parties, dinners and impromptu gatherings—all the drinking and all the drugs— never happened when I came to set, isn't it? But when I was away, all sorts of casual situations were arranged to push them together. It was also probably a top down decision to leak rumors about a romance between them, wasn't it. Well, that's all over. My wife and I have reconciled and there is no more hope for you to create division between us. Rowan told me quite clearly last night she never wants to see Aidan Mosteller again, so I can assure you, she will never share a set, a stage, or any space with him going forward. So you've got a promotional tour to rearrange and Stella's exit to rewrite."

From the sound of it, he's been up all night, working the London situation, where it would have been midday. He's probably got Dev and Cheddar all squared away with the police. But it's 6am tomorrow in New Zealand, so I can only assume he's woken up the Girl Band head honchos to get ahead of the situation with a strong offense.

I feel conflicted about that. He should have talked to me first. At the same time, he's working to protect me the only way he knows how. If he can get me out of this promotional tour with Aidan, and out of any more scenes with him, there is no greater gift he could give me.

"He can file whatever civil suits he likes, but if you don't work with me now, I can promise you we will go public with the assault he perpetrated. She's leaving either way, mates. It's up to you whether you lose your leading lady and are forced to fire your piece of shit leading man too."

He listens for a long moment. "Fine. Send over the revised contracts." He pulls off his headset and leans heavily on his walker.

"It's done. You will still have to promote the new season, but no joint appearances with him. They will rewrite your exit and advance it to the first episode. No scenes with him."

A huge weight I didn't even know I was under suddenly releases. But I don't say anything, because I'm still angry with him.

Riley sits down in his chair and closes his eyes.

"I'm sorry about last night. To blame you, when he assaulted you...Rowan, I..." he puts a hand to his glasses pulling them off and rubbing his face. His hand is shaking. "I'm genuinely sorry for that."

"Then why did you say it?"

"Rage. Fear. Frustration."

"It's still no excuse."

"I know."

Even as I'm saying these things, I know that I wouldn't have told Riley about Aidan, if Cheddar hadn't gotten arrested and Aidan hadn't made accusations to the police about Dev. As angry as I am at him, he wasn't wrong last night when he said I was trying to soften the blow with romance. I guess I didn't even realize I was doing that, but I can see that it feels like the old manipulations again.

I pull the comforter tighter around me. "I was wrong, too...trying to put sex in front of a hard truth. To be perfectly honest, my instinct was to hide the whole thing from you. But then Cheddar got arrested and Dev was being implicated and I knew you would find out one way or another."

He nods wearily. "I know."

A long pause. "Cheddar? Dev?"

"First time Cheddar has ever been caught bashing on a bloke. He likely won't do time. They have nothing on Dev and Lord Bluemond is already quashing Mosteller's claims."

"That's good."

"Yes. Mosteller was treated and released without a hospital stay, if you care..."

"I don't. I despise him, Riley. I can't believe I—"

I stop. There is nothing I should ever say about Aidan to Riley again. I know that.

Riley smiles grimly with his eyes closed. "I know. Sometimes I still can't believe it either. But here we are. Back where we began. You concealing things you think will make me angry, and me, hurting you because I can't believe you would betray me. Especially with a man like that. It might not feel so goddamn awful, if he were a better man..." Riley says philosophically. He rubs his eyes. "Christ, Rowan." he mutters. "I do love you, and I don't want to be angry with you anymore, but I can't get you and him out of my head. When we're in bed together. It's at least...part of the problem."

"If you love me, you have to forgive me, Riley..." I whisper softly.

"I have, obviously," he says with irritation. "We are back together, sharing a life, sharing a bed—"

"You haven't. Last night I told you Aidan forced himself on me, and your first reaction was to blame me for it. You haven't forgiven me. You've never even said the words, you know. You've said you love me, you've said you trust me, you've said you want to forgive me, you're trying to forgive me, but you've never said the words I forgive you. Because deep down you know you haven't."

He doesn't look at me. He picks up his glasses and wipes them methodically. "I'm trying, Rowan. I really am, I swear."

"We need help," I whisper. "If we're going to put this relationship first, and make us more than the sum of our broken parts, we need help."

"Couples counseling, you mean? We tried that before."

"Before, I only cried and you only stabbed me with angry words. We weren't ready, then."

He nods. He puts his glasses on with shaking hands and looks at me. "Alright. Do you want to ask your mother for a recommendation?"

"No, I want Marley, if she'll do it."

"Christ," he groans. "No..."

"Yes," I insist. "She's the only person you ever listen to, and the only person whom you can't charm to see things your way."

"She's my employee."

"She works for Trace, and she's always kept her roles separate there. And she really helped him and Kat..."

He stares into space. "That's true."

"Call her."

"Alright. If it's what you want."

"It is."

I stand in the doorway, wanting to go, wanting to say everything that's bothering me.

"You should have asked me," I say. "Before you negotiated a new deal with the show. I appreciate what you did, I'm happy with the outcome, but you should have asked me."

He looks at me with confusion. "I'm sorry? You said you never wanted to see him again. I believed that. As your manager, I was trying to make that happen for you."

"Last night, I was talking to the man I love. We should have had a different conversation before you acted as my manager."

He opens his mouth, but then shuts it. He simply nods.

"I'm going to brunch with my mother. Is there anything you need before I go?"

He gives me a shocked look. "You just got back into town last night, and you're going out again today?"

"I hadn't planned on it, but I'm kind of pissed at you, Riley. And you're not happy with me, either. We need...a little space."

He nods again. "Of course, I understand."

I want to walk away, but compassion compels me to stay. "You seem like you are in pain. Can I help you?"

"I am in pain." he confesses."If you're going out, I shall go to bed. Would you mind...bringing me a bite to eat? The kitchen seems a little daunting at the moment."

He looks absolutely miserable. I know asking for my help is the last thing he wants to do right now. "I don't mind at all. Right now, I'm frustrated that we've taken what feels like a big step backwards, but I do love you."

"Thank you."

I turn away to retrieve my clothes and his breakfast.

"Rowan," he stops me. "I love you, too."

I nod, and walk out.

He loves me, he says. I suppose time will tell how well.

#

All of Skid Marcs have had a membership at the Bel Air Country club for twenty years. It's pretty funny to see Skid Marcs raising hell on a golf course, but golf isn't really the reason they are members. Mostly it was for the wives—a place for them to socialize and bring us kids to the pool for swim lessons and tennis lessons when we were little.

Now, it's a stress-free place for us to grab a bite to eat where we don't have to worry about paparazzi. It's more a thing my mom does with Street when he's in town, or with Bridge weekly. It's been a while since she and I had Bloody Mary's and girl talk.

She is waiting for me when I arrive. I have never seen my mother look anything but classy and today is no exception. She's wearing a one piece dark olive silk jumpsuit. Spaghetti straps climb her beautifully sculpted shoulders. Minimal jewelry but immaculate, soft makeup and heels complete her look. She easily looks fifteen years younger than she is. I doubt I will look as good at forty as she does at fifty-five.

What the hell am I saying? I don't look as good as she does right now. I look like hell.

My suspicions about my exhausted appearance are confirmed as she looks me over carefully but without comment. At least I didn't wear jeans and a ratty t-shirt. They have a dress code and rarely do they overlook it, even for its celebrity members, so I'm in the skirt I wore home on the plane with a fresh top and half boots. I braided my hair. Sunglasses and chapstick substitute for make-up.

The waiter brings our Bloody Mary's and she sips delicately. "How are you, today, Sweetheart?"

"About the same as I look," I say, peppering my drink with hot sauce.

"Can I help?"

"Not unless you have a time machine, so that I go back and unfuckup my marriage."

"Hmmmm...I don't, but I have wished for the same thing. Many times."

"Nothing you ever did was as bad as what I did. And anyway, divorce seems to work for you and dad. Me and Riley? I'm not sure..."

We drink in silence. After a time, she says, "Are you still angry with your dad? He seems to think so."

I shrug. "I didn't mean to say all those things I said to him. I never...I never really knew I felt that way, until I said it."

The waiter comes. We've brunched here so many times, the menu is unnecessary. My mother orders Eggs Benedict and I choose a shrimp cocktail.

When he leaves, my mother fiddles with the small diamond pendant she's wearing. She sighs. "I know how close you are with your daddy, and I know how much it hurts both of you when you argue. Maybe I shouldn't have told you that we were divorced, because it seems that instead of being helpful to you, it's become another source of pain. It was not my intention that you would...blame our divorce on your father's drinking problem. A long time ago, your father and I agreed to leave the past in the past when it came to certain mistakes."

I nod. "I know he's trying really hard to stay sober now—"

"I'm not talking about your father's alcoholism. I'm talking about my mistakes," she says hurriedly. "Rowan, I didn't plan to go into all the details, but ever since the fight you had with your father, I think...I think it would be better if I shared a little more with you. It's not easy to say this..." she takes another big gulp of her drink, "I know how difficult it is to be in your position. In the position of...trying to repair a relationship when you are the one that has been unfaithful."

I stare at my perfect mother. The woman whose composure never slips, the one who can resolve any conflict, smooth over any difficulty. The Queen who never falters. She suddenly becomes aware that she in danger of breaking her necklace with agitated pulls and she stops, suddenly folding her hands in her lap.

"I didn't divorce your father. He divorced me. He divorced me because I had an affair."

It doesn't make sense, what she is saying.

"Why didn't you tell me before? When Riley and I told everyone?"

She bites her lip and continues to fiddle with her necklace. "Partly becuase Riley seemed so adament about divorcing and I honestly wasn't very happy with his behavoir. I didn't want to share my story, and give you an impression I thought you should reconcile. But things have changed, with you two, and maybe knowing the entire story would be more helpful to you, now."

"What it Johnny? The security guard?" I whisper. "But no, that doesn't make sense... he was...later, after the divorce, wasn't he?"

She looks embarrassed. "Street asked me the same thing recently, but I was never with Johnny. I suppose I did lean on him more during the time when your dad's drinking was the worst it ever was, and he decided to go for a year long rehab program. Your father and I always intended to be together again after he got sober, but it was a difficult year, for sure, him living in a residence facility and not at home. During our couples therapy that we had during that time, your dad told me he thought Johnny was in love with me. Johnny was a potential stressor in our home we didn't need, he said. Seeing it from your father's perspective, I agreed to let Johnny go without hesitation. Because of what I had done, years before."

"The affair, you mean?"

"Yes. It happened about a year after you and Bridget were born. I was probably the most insecure I had ever been. I was thirty one years old and had spent the majority of the last three years pregnant. Recovering physically from a twin pregnancy is especially hard, as I'm sure you know. I was horribly self-conscious about my body. I could barely stand to have sex with your father at that point. I didn't want him to see me naked. Your father was very pragmatic about the situation...he told me he loved me no matter what, but he really thought maybe I should see a plastic surgeon and fix whatever it was that I didn't like about body, because he missed his wild and wonderful and sexy wife and he wanted me to feel like that woman again.

"I had quite a bit of work done, boobs, liposuction, tummy tuck, but it didn't help my self-image. See, I was depressed, and no amount of work could change what I was seeing in the mirror. Skid Marcs was at the height of their success. I felt like a dowdy old housewife compared to all the young fangirls and the models and actresses always fawning over your father. I was pushing your father away, and he was becoming more and more exasperated with my coldness. We were fighting a good bit and those fights weren't really resolved. They only stopped because Skid Marc began a lengthy tour. I became obsessed with the idea that your father was cheating on me night after night with fangirls, while I was at home with my babies. It wasn't true, but I made it true in my mind, so much so that I used it as an excuse to do the very thing I was terrified he was doing to me.

"The man was...no one you know. A much older man, a rich and powerful businessman from the East Coast. I met him at a fundraiser I attended, and he pursued me aggressively, for weeks after. With him, I could feel confident again. He had never seen my body distorted by the aftermath of pregnancy. He never saw the overwhelmed mother with baggy clothes covered in milk stains. He never saw me exhausted, tired, frustrated, or unsexy. He only saw what I wanted him to see—a beautiful younger woman."

I'm thinking of all the things she said. It was much the same for me. I felt stuck in a situation I didn't want to be in—with the show, with the diet pills, with the constant fight between my husband and my producers. Riley's focus on my weight loss and my dieting issues made me feel extremely unattractive to him, while Aidan seemed to love how skinny I was. With Aidan, I could be someone else—not damaged Row, but wild and reckless Stella.

"So you slept with that man to feel better about yourself. I think I did the same thing. But it didn't work."

"Well, for me, it worked for a time. Unlike your mistake, it was not a one time thing. I saw this man...a number of times over the course of a few months. Your father had no idea. After the tour was over, and Matt came home, he was so happy to be with us—his family. One morning we were lying in bed together—you children, too. Your father and I were doing silly things with you three, making you laugh and jump around the bed. He looked over your heads at me, and his love in that moment was so strong, I could I could actually feel it, warming me, shining on me. I realized he didn't see me the way I saw myself—as dowdy and old. He saw me through the lens of his love and what he saw was beautiful to him. I realized what a terrible mistake I was making. I didn't love that other man. Not at all. I just liked the way he wanted me.

"I loved your father, but I had let depression and vanity and insecurity numb that love. I wanted desperately to fix that. To love him in all the ways he deserved."

That's what I want, too. I want to love Riley like he deserves. But sometimes I think I'm not capable of it.

My mother keeps going.

"I broke things off with the other man that day, but it was several weeks before I was able to bring myself to confess what I had done. I debated, very long and hard, about whether or not to tell him. In the end, I decided it was a continual betrayal, if I didn't come clean. So I did just what you did. I told him everything.

"Your father was devastated. After a few days of awful fighting, we agreed to stay together. Some days would be better than others. But he drank more and more, and the fights only got worse on the days that he was drunk. He would scream and scream, and I would cry and cry, and then he would leave because we were scaring you kids. About two or three months after I confessed, we had one of those fights. He left and continued to drink at a bar and he...picked up a groupie somewhere. He didn't even try to hide it. He let paparazzi follow him to the hotel. He wanted me to know. One of the paparazzi came to our house, showed me the pictures he had just taken. He even offered to drive me to the hotel, because he wanted a big scene of course. I didn't go with him, but I did go to the hotel. Your father was there alone, drinking. The hotel suite was trashed. He'd sent the woman away.

"He told me he wanted to see if he could go through with it, but even though I had cheated on him, he couldn't bring himself to cheat on me. He wasn't drunk enough to hurt me on purpose, he said. He said he figured he would probably keep trying—getting drunk enough to retaliate— and he'd probably kill himself in the process. He told me he was going to file for divorce and check himself into rehab, because he was leaving me for the sake of our mutual sanity, but he wasn't leaving his kids for a booze-soaked grave.

"Our divorce was final during his rehab. When he got out, things looked different to us both. Time and a lot of separate therapy had taken away some of the anger, but the love remained. I knew I still loved him and he knew he still loved me. That's when we began the most difficult thing we've ever done. We worked the process of forgiveness together."

The waiter arrives with our food. Neither of us touch it.

"How did you do it? How did he learn to forgive you?"

My mother gives me the most brilliantly sad smile I've ever seen. "That's exactly what I want to tell you, Sweetheart. It starts with you. It has to. You have to forgive yourself, before Riley can forgive you."

Her words are so simple, and I want to dismiss them, but there is something in them that calls to me. I do still feel incredibly guilty about what I did. Every act of compassion and kindness and patience I show to Riley feels as much like a penance as an act of love. Maybe she's right. Maybe I can't expect Riley to forgive my sin against our marriage if I can't stop acting like a sinner.

"Okay," I say, "How do I do that?"

She reaches across for my left hand. "Well, You have to free your soul. You've already made a good beginning, haven't you? You've found your music again. But I think there is more you can do. You have to begin to treat yourself well. Regain your own self-respect. Find your genuine self. Through that, you will remember you are a person worthy of love, even though you made a terrible mistake that hurt someone you love."

She fingers my braid. "Don't you think it's time you stop punishing yourself every time you look in the mirror? I think one way to begin forgiving yourself is getting rid of Stella."

"The producers won't like it," I say automatically.

"Is it in your contract that you have to stay in character, physically, beyond the season shoots?"

"No, but—"

"You're leaving the show, Row. Do you care what the producers don't like? You can wear a wig for the shooting you have to finish."

I pull my braid from her fingers and play with the ratty edges. "I don't know who I want to see in the mirror. I'm not Stella, but I'm not that crazy Strut girl with gray hair either. She was sometimes selfish and reckless and insecure and...unlovable, too."

"Not unlovable. Not to me. Or your father. Or Riley—apparently, because he fell in love with her. But you're right, you're not that girl anymore. You're a woman whose been through several tough years and has come out the other side wiser and more compassionate than most people twice your age."

"I do feel pretty old," I sigh.

"Well, we can do something about that."

She picks up her phone and books us a complete spa-afternoon—facials, massages, mani-pedis, and a stylist's appointment for me.

"Eat," she encourages me. "Then we'll go and begin making you feel beautiful in your own skin again."