"I don't want to upset you, but I read in the Star that she's in Europe. Vacationing with her two kids." Dianna screws up her face as I begin hyperventilating and stumbling around the deck, unsure as to whether or not I'm going to throw up, and she says, "There was a picture of her in ... Saint-Tropez?”
"That fucking BASTARD," I say, somehow getting ahold of myself and tripping down the stairs and into the galley, where Paul, the captain, is talking in whispered tones to the cook, whose name I can never remember.
"Where's my husband?" I ask.
Paul and the cook exchange looks. "I think he's on the aft deck. Getting ready to go scuba diving.”
"That's what he thinks," I snap, making my way to the back of the boat, where Hubert is pulling on a dive skin.
"Hi," he says nonchalantly.
"What are you doing?" I ask coldly.
"I'm going to scuba dive into the port. I thought it'd be cool.”
"That’s a smart idea," I say sarcastically. "Maybe you'll get ground up by a propeller.”
"Oh for Christ's sake," he says, rolling his eyes. "You just don't give a shit about me, do you?”
“Leave me alone, huh?" he says, pulling the dive skin over his shoulder.
"I am so sick of your shit," I scream, running to him and hitting him until he grabs my wrists and pushes me roughly away. "What the FUCK is your problem?" he says.
I reel back, stunned. Recovering somewhat, I say, "I want to talk to you.”
"Yeah? Well, I don't want to talk to you.”
Has my husband ever spoken to me like this before? "I HAVE to talk to you," I say. "Right now.”
"You just don't get it, do you?" he says, shoving his feet into a pair of flippers.
"Get what?" I demand.
"That I am sick and tired of you trying to control me all the time. Okay? Just let me be. Just let me do my thing for a change, okay?”
"Your thing? All you do is your thing.”
For a moment, he says nothing and we stare at each other hatefully. Then he says, "What do you want from me, Cecelia?”
I want you to love me is what I want to say, but can't.
"I came on this vacation for you, okay?" he says.
"You wanted to come on Dianna Moon's yacht and we're on her yacht. I'm here. You're always complaining that we never do what you want to do. And when we do it, it still isn't enough.”
"Then how come we have to go to Princess Ursula's this afternoon? We always do what you want to do.”
"Princess Ursula is family, okay? Do you think you can understand that concept?”
"It's not that.... “
"Oh yeah? Well, what is it? Because I'm getting pretty sick and tired of your attitude.”
Oh God. Why do these arguments always go nowhere? Why can't I make myself heard?
"You're seeing Lil'Bit Parsons again, aren't you?" I say triumphantly.
That stops him dead. "Wha ... ?" he says, but he looks away quickly, and I know I've got him. "Give me a break," he says lamely.
"You are seeing her. I know everything. She's in Europe, vacationing with her kids. She was in Saint-Tropez.”
"So?”
"So you snuck out and met her," I say, even though I have no actual knowledge of this incident and can't even recall when it might have happened. "Stop this," he says.
"You saw her. You're guilty.”
“I am not going to discuss this, Cecelia.”
"You're not going to discuss it because I'm right. You saw her again. Why don't you just admit it?”
“I said, I'm not going to discuss this.”
"Well remember this, buddy," I say. "The last time you didn't want to discuss it, it was in ... all ... the ... NEWSPAPERS," I scream. So loudly that I feel like my head is going to explode.
Hubert looks at me (sadly, I think), then jumps into the water. I turn and pass Paul and the cook, who have the fucking temerity to give me their wimpy half smiles as if nothing at all has occurred. I wonder how I can bear living like this, and I go up on the deck and thank God Dianna is there. I sit down and put my head in my hands.
"There are photographers on the dock," she says. "There's going to be a great photo of Hubert shoving you," she says.
"Definitely cover of Star magazine," she says. "I can't take this," I say.
"She's never going to give up, you know?" Dianna says. "She's a movie star. And movie stars can't stand to be rejected. She can't believe he chose you over her. She'll be tracking him down until the day he dies, baby. And even then she'll be elbowing you out of the way at the funeral. Just like Paula Yates." She yawns and rolls over, spilling the bottle of nail polish on the deck.
One of the things you learn about being married is that you don't have to continue every fight to the death. You can take a little break. Pretend that nothing has happened. I've found this works with Hubert, who, I'm beginning to realize, gets confused easily. Which is probably why he ended up dating Lil'Bit Parsons in the first place. She completely manipulated him.
And so, when he returns to the boat, water streaming off his dive skin (which shows off all the muscles in his body, including his washboard stomach), Dianna and I are laughing and drinking champagne as if nothing in the world is wrong. I pour him a glass of champagne, and he is relieved, thinking that maybe the fight is over.
But it isn't.
I pick up the fight again when Hubert and I are in the taxi, making our way to Sir Ernie and Princess Ursula's villa in the hills of Porto Ercole.
"Why did you break up with her?" I ask innocently. Hubert is holding my hand, staring out the window at the grape arbors, and he turns and says, "Who?" but there's a tiny edge in his voice, as if he knows what’s coming next.
"You know," I say. "Lil'Bit.”
"Oh," he says. "You know. I met you.”
This answer is, of course, not satisfying, or at least not satisfying enough, so I say, "Didn't Lil'Bit stay with Princess Ursula every September?”
"I don't remember," he says. "They're good friends. They've known each other since Lil'Bit was in high school in Switzerland.”
"High school in Switzerland. What a lovely expression," I say nastily. And he says, "What’s wrong with it?" And I say, in order not to divert us from the main topic, "Did you go with her? To Porto Ercole? Every September with your aunt?”
"You know I did, okay?" he says.
"It must have been so cozy," I say. "Everyone getting along. Everyone best friends.”
"It wasn't bad," he says.
"It's not my fault that Ursula hates me.”
"Ursula doesn't hate you. But she thinks you don't treat me well." This is an astonishing bit of information, which I decide not to pursue. Instead, I yawn loudly and say, "Lil'Bit Parsons has had the easiest life of anybody I've ever known.”
"She hasn't had an easy life," Hubert says. "Her boyfriend beat her up.”
"Oh, big fucking deal. Her boyfriend beat her up. She had a few bruises. If he was so horrible, why didn't she leave him?”
"She's not that kind of person, okay?”
"Her daddy was rich, and when she was seventeen, she started modeling and then she got her first part at nineteen. Tough life.”
"Just because she didn't grow up in a commune doesn't mean she hasn't had a hard time.”
"Yes it does," I say. "Okay? Do you get that?”
“No," he says. "I don't. And I don't get you." We ride the rest of the way in silence.
At the villa, Princess Ursula greets us by the pool, wearing her bathing suit with a sarong wrapped around her waist (she's fifty-five but still thinks she has an excellent figure and shows it off on every possible occasion), and in a casual voice which is tinged with both French and English accents, mentions "nonchalantly" that dear Lil'Bit is indeed in Porto Ercole, having taken her own villa for two weeks, and is, "ha ha," coming for lunch, and isn't this a "wonderful surprise.”