The Party Page 12

It surprised Lisa how much she wanted to have this conversation about Lauren. Lisa’s parenting style had always been noninterference. She didn’t want to decide who Ronni’s friends were, control what Ronni did for fun, or supervise how she spent every waking minute. Unlike some control-freak mothers she could name, Lisa wasn’t going to dictate who her daughter became. Of course, Lisa had met Lauren on several occasions. She seemed polite enough, with a touch of attitude. The same could have been said for Lisa’s own child, before the accident. So if Ronni had chosen Lauren for a best friend, then Lisa would respect her daughter’s opinion. But it now appeared that Ronni could have used some guidance in that department.

  “Ronni’s first week back at school was really hard,” Lisa said, removing her hands from the mug and gripping the handle. It was an understatement. Ronni had begged not to go, sobbing and clutching at her mother like a frightened toddler. “It’ll be fine,” Lisa had assuaged her. But it wasn’t fine. When Ronni returned from her first day at Hillcrest, she’d gone into her lilac bedroom and slammed the door. Lisa heard banging and thumping, drawers opening and closing, objects being thrown around the room. She’d hurried to see the source of the commotion.

  “You can get rid of all this crap,” Ronni cried, indicating a pile of designer clothes, stylish jewelry, and expensive makeup in the middle of her bedroom floor. “I don’t need any of it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “No one looks at me anymore!” she screamed. “Or when they do, they whisper, or snicker, or look away really fast. Even my so-called friends are hiding from me because I’m so fucking ugly!”

  “You’re not ugly! Don’t say that!” But Lisa’s words were drowned out by Ronni’s sobs as she dropped to the floor, tearing at her clothes, smashing makeup cases, destroying treasured necklaces and earrings.

  Lisa took a sip of her nearly flavorless tea. “She feels abandoned. And isolated.”

  “That makes me so sad,” Carla said, her eyes shiny with emotion under her impeccable makeup. How old was she? Thirty? Thirty-five at the most? How old was Lauren’s father? Probably in his fifties … Carla had trophy wife written all over her, but she could still be a caring soul.

  Carla continued, “My husband is a good man, but his work is his life. He travels all the time. He’s not the hands-on parent that Lauren needs. And her mom is so bitter and angry. I shouldn’t say anything, but she drinks… .”

  Lisa shook her head, sympathetic.

  “Lauren’s hated me since the day we met,” Carla continued, her chin crinkling with the emotion of her words. “Her mom poisoned her against me. Darren and I met when he was still married. Nothing really happened, but there were feelings there.”

  “I understand,” Lisa said, because she did. There had been some married men in her past. Sometimes there was a connection that went beyond all impediments. She wouldn’t judge.

  “I’ve tried to bond with her,” Carla continued, “but she seems so cold and heartless. Then her dad comes home and she turns on the charm.”

  “Divorce is hard on kids,” Lisa offered, bringing her cup to her lips, but it felt like an excuse. Lauren’s cruelty toward Ronni bordered on sociopathic. Obviously, Lisa wasn’t qualified to make a diagnosis, but she had once dated a complete and utter asshole whom her friend Hilary had tagged a sociopath. Lisa had researched the term and it seemed to fit Lauren to a tee. The girl was charming, she was a leader, and she obviously had a total lack of empathy. Lisa’s maternal protectiveness could be coloring her judgment, but the diagnosis fit.

  “Half of all kids today come from broken homes,” Carla said. “I think she just needs boundaries. Her mom will ground her for doing drugs, but then she never follows through. Darren’s not home enough to punish her, and if I try to set any limits, I’m the Wicked Witch of the West.”

  “Being a stepparent is a tough job.”

  Carla was on the verge of tears now. “I love Darren; I love our life together. But honestly, if I’d known his daughter was going to be so hateful, I’m not sure I would have married him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Darren doesn’t want any more children. He says he’s too old. I agreed when we first got married, but that’s when I thought I’d be a part of Lauren’s life. I didn’t think she would hate me so much.”

  Lisa suddenly saw this meeting for what it really was: a counseling session for a distraught stepmom. Carla wasn’t an ally who was going to make Lauren see what a shitty friend she was being to Ronni. Carla just wanted Lisa to affirm that Lauren was a cruel little bitch and that all the discord in their stepparent-stepchild relationship was the girl’s fault. Lisa looked at Carla: her flawless makeup, her manicured nails, her yoga-toned body, and her pretty hazel eyes filled with tears. The poor thing. Carla had chosen to marry a wealthy older man and she hadn’t factored in all the baggage that came with him.

  Lisa could have easily said the words Carla wanted to hear, could have given her the sympathy she so clearly coveted. But Lisa didn’t have the energy to support someone else right now. Her focus was on helping Ronni. Only Ronni. She changed the subject. “Has anyone talked to Lauren about Ronni? About how alone she feels?”

  “I’ve tried, I really have, but she doesn’t listen to me. I doubt her mom has,” Carla snorted. “Monique is completely useless as a mother… . Darren thinks Lauren should stay away from Ronni until you settle your lawsuit.” She took a sip of tea. “How’s that going?”

  Lisa leaned back in her chair. “The Sanderses have refused to accept any responsibility, but I’m not backing down.”

  “Darren thinks you should settle. He says that the police found the Sanderses not criminally responsible, so you don’t have a leg to stand on.”

  Lisa felt affronted. Darren knew nothing about what happened that night. And, frankly, he should spend less time judging people and more time parenting his nasty daughter. But she pasted on a patient smile. “We have our examination for discovery on Monday. When the Sanderses see the case we have against them, they’ll come to the table. There’s a lot more going on beneath Jeff and Kim’s perfect facade than people realize.”

  Carla cocked her head. “Really? They seem pretty squeaky clean.”

  Lisa reached for her mug but noticed her hands were shaking. She folded them in her lap. “Well … they’re not.”

  “Jeff Sanders is such a health nut. He does triathlons, doesn’t he? He’s quite attractive. Kim, too … in her conservative way.”

  Lisa gave an ambiguous nod. Kim was classically pretty, well preserved, always put together … but she had no warmth, no sex appeal that Lisa could see. And Jeff was fit and boyish, but when she’d met him, all those years ago, she’d picked up his subtle air of condescension. Jeff was a privileged pretty boy with no depth, no character, no complexity… .

  “They may look like the perfect couple,” Lisa said, “but there’s a lot of shit going on in that multimillion-dollar house.”

  Carla leaned forward conspiratorially. “Like what?”

  Lisa wasn’t about to jeopardize her legal position by disclosing dirt to a virtual stranger. “I really can’t talk about it,” she said, “but if this goes to trial, you’ll know more than you ever wanted to about the Sanderses.”

  The younger woman looked positively gleeful at the prospect. “Do you think there’ll be a trial? Darren says these cases usually get settled through mediation.”

  Darren says, Darren says, Darren says …

  “I’m not interested in mediation,” Lisa said. “The Sanderses are used to getting what they want. They’re used to everything being easy and working out for them. But they’re going to take responsibility for what they did to my daughter.”

  The intensity of Lisa’s words seemed to make Carla uncomfortable. “I hope it works out,” she said, eyes darting to her watch.

  There was an awkward silence that neither of the women knew how to fill, so Lisa said, “I should go. I don’t like leaving Ronni alone for too long.
”

  “Right,” Carla said with obvious relief. She slid her chair back. “I’ll try to talk to Lauren, but she won’t listen.”

  Lisa managed a smile as she stood. “Probably not. But thanks for trying.”

  jeff

  THIRTY-SEVEN DAYS AFTER

  The conference room table was made of some pale hardwood polished to a gleaming sheen. Jeff could see Kim’s reflection in it as she sat stiffly beside him. He couldn’t quite make out her expression but he didn’t need to see it to know that it was grim, tense, and hostile. Next to Kim sat their plain, competent attorney, Candace Sugarman. Across the table sat the enemy, looking young and waiflike in her bohemian clothes. Despite her fragile appearance, there was something fierce in Lisa’s eyes—either rage or hatred, Jeff wasn’t sure. Lisa was flanked by her attorney, Paul Wilcox, a pudgy thirty-five-year-old man in an expensive suit.

  At the end of the table, impossibly young and perfect and pretty, was Lauren Ross. Beside her sat her mother, Monique. Perhaps it was the elder woman’s haggard appearance juxtaposed with her daughter’s youth that made Lauren appear so ethereal. Jeff knew what Kim would think: Lauren was too made up, too overtly sexual for her age, like some pedophile’s fantasy. And Kim was right. But there was no denying that the girl was beautiful. Every time Jeff looked at her, which was rarely, he felt sick to his stomach.

  “I know I could have done a written witness statement, but I just felt like I had to be here… .”

  Of course she did. Lauren wouldn’t miss a chance to insert herself into this mess.

  “Thank you, Lauren.” It was Candace’s practiced voice. “Now, tell us what happened that night.”

  Lauren glanced at Jeff and then over to Lisa before addressing the attorney. “It was the same as any sleepover: we all stole a bit of booze from home, a few pills from our medicine cabinets, and then we got wasted.”

  Kim made some noise at the back of her throat and Lauren’s mom rolled her eyes and shook her head. But Candace was encouraging. “You’re doing great, Lauren. How much alcohol did each girl bring?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Do you recall who brought what substances to Hannah’s birthday party?”

  “Not really …”

  “Not really, or no?” Candace pressed. Jeff’s eyes were fixed on the table. He didn’t dare look at Lauren, and he hoped she was smart enough not to look at him.

  “No,” Lauren said. “I just remember that everyone brought something, so we can’t really blame one person.”

  “Thank you,” Candace said, “I know this wasn’t easy for you.”

  “It was the right thing to do.”

  Monique, Lauren’s mother, pushed her chair back. “Are we done here?” Her voice was raspy; she was clearly a smoker.

  Candace looked to the other lawyer, Paul, who nodded assent. “Yes, thank you.”

  Lauren and her mother moved toward the door, and Jeff felt his shoulders collapse with relief. He hadn’t even realized that his traps were in a vise until Lauren got up to leave. The tension was understandable. If anyone in that room knew what had been going on between him and the girl, he’d be crucified.

  They were almost gone when Lauren turned back. “I just have to say one thing… .” Jeff felt his stomach drop, but Lauren’s gaze was fixed on Lisa. “I think what you’re doing to Jeff and Kim is really bad. It’s not their fault that Ronni lost her eye. She wanted to get wasted, we all did… .” Monique gripped her daughter’s upper arm and tried to hustle her out the door, but Lauren wasn’t finished. “This lawsuit is making it harder for Ronni at school. No one wants to hang out with her because of all the crap going on around her. I think you should drop the lawsuit and focus on your daughter getting better.”

  Lisa stood. “You don’t care about Ronni,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’ve barely talked to her since the accident.”

  “That’s because of all this.” Lauren indicated the room. “My dad said to stay out of it.”

  Monique snorted. “So that’s why you manipulated me into bringing you here.”

  Lauren said, “I just want this all to be over for everyone. For Ronni …”

  Lisa leaned forward, placed both hands on the table. “Don’t pretend you care about Ronni, you phony, superficial little bitch.”

  “Hey! Fuck you!” Monique said, revealing unexpected maternal protectiveness. Jeff glanced over at the court reporter, a blank-faced woman who was transcribing the proceedings. She appeared to be transcribing this comment, too.

  Candace stood, tried to regain order. “Please, everyone just calm down. Lauren and Monique, we appreciate your time, but we need to get back on task.”

  “Get out of here, Lauren,” Lisa spat. “Go home and do your hair.”

  That’s when Lauren looked at Jeff. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments and a chill ran through him. Lauren’s expression was almost pleading. I tried, her eyes said, I did this for you. Surely, everyone in the room could sense their connection. It had to be obvious what had transpired between them; that Lauren was far more than just a friend of his daughter’s… .

  If only he could go back in time to that day when Lauren showed up at the gym. He should have sent her away. Her threat to tell the police about the champagne was bluster and he could have shut her down. But instead, he’d taken her for ice cream, like an idiot. And then her late-night call for help had come in, and like some stupid, obedient Saint Bernard, he had gone to her rescue. It was the wrong choice, he knew it then and he knew it now. Still, when Jeff dropped Lauren off at her mom’s apartment that night, he’d hoped it was over. It wasn’t.

  The texts were innocuous at first:

  So board. What’s new

  Did you suck at science as much as I do

  I hate school. Wish we could go for lunch.

  He’d barely responded, at most a one-word answer, more often: in a meeting. But, it wasn’t enough to discourage her.

  And then it had come: A nude. He’d heard Hannah and her friends use the term when a boy from their school was expelled for sharing one of his ex-girlfriend. Jeff had been alone in his office, thank Christ, when the image popped up on his phone, the expanse of flesh instantly catching his eye. It was Lauren, naked, or maybe she was wearing a Gstring—he hadn’t looked closely. Her expression was provocative, pouty, an adolescent porn star. As soon as he registered what and who it was, he had deleted it, his hands shaky and his forehead sweaty. He wiped his phone immediately. It was a work cell; he could be fired for this. Kim could divorce him. He could go to jail! What the hell was this stupid little tart thinking? He could have strangled her.

  But he was angry at himself, too, angry that he had opened the door to this sick flirtation. It was his fault that Lauren thought that her photo would be appreciated. And he was even angrier at the physical response he’d had to the stimulus of naked, teenaged flesh. Mentally, he was repulsed—like he’d been sent a photo of a mutilated corpse—but he couldn’t deny the arousal he’d felt when he’d looked, ever so briefly, at the naked image. It made him sick to his stomach.

  Somehow, no one in the office seemed to read the history between him and the girl about to exit the conference room. Monique grabbed her daughter’s arm, rather roughly, and hustled her out the door. Lisa let out a bitter, sardonic laugh, and Kim shook her head. Candace was already pushing papers across the table to Paul. “We have three other witness statements that corroborate Lauren’s testimony.”

  So Lauren had made good on her promise. Somehow, she’d convinced the other girls to lie about the champagne, to perjure themselves under oath rather than face Lauren’s wrath. How powerful was this girl? What was she capable of? Of course, it was possible that Marta and Caitlin didn’t remember him gifting Hannah that bottle of bubbly, but he knew it was wishful thinking… .

  It was Paul’s turn to attack now—or to examine for discovery. He set his sights on Kim first. “Do you drink, Mrs. Sanders?”

  �
�Socially,” Kim said, though Candace had instructed them to answer yes or no whenever possible.

  Paul looked up from his papers. “So never alone?”

  “Sometimes I’ll have a glass of wine when I’m making dinner, before my husband gets home.”

  “Did you drink wine the night that Veronica Monroe was injured in your home?”

  “Yes.”

  “One glass of wine? Two? Three?”

  Jeff remembered Kim pouring a large second glass after they’d taken the pizza down to the girls. She was upset about their daughter’s “attitude.” “Ronni and Lauren are bad influences,” she’d griped. “Hannah never talked to me that way before they entered her universe. She’s trying to impress them.”

  Kim looked Paul in the eye and calmly said, “I don’t remember.” She was good at this.

  “Do you take any prescription or recreational drugs?”

  “No.”

  “No? Not even sleeping pills?”

  “Sometimes I take half an Ambien to help me sleep.”

  “Did you take half an Ambien the night Veronica Monroe was injured in your basement?”

  Kim hesitated and Jeff was sure she’d say she didn’t remember. But how could she not? She took half an Ambien practically every night. She was always “wound up” she said, about something trivial, like the tile guy taking too long on their new backsplash, or Aidan not getting enough playing time on his soccer team, or it was Tanya’s turn to host book club but she was fobbing it off on Beth. But Kim finally said, “I believe I did.”

  Paul interlaced his pudgy fingers. “So you had one, maybe two, maybe three glasses of wine and a sleeping pill the night of Ronni’s accident.”

  Kim’s composure faltered. “I’m not sure. Probably one glass of wine and half a sleeping pill—I only ever take half… .”

  Jeff glanced at Lisa and saw the smallest of smiles curl her lips. He felt a surge of anger course through him. She was enjoying this.

  Paul turned his attentions to Jeff. “Mr. Sanders … are you a drug user?”

  “No.”