Privilege- Chapter Three: The Shelved Items

Addy would have liked to say that her honeymoon was where she finally came to know her husband.

There should have been long dinners that stretched into midnight, conversations beneath unfamiliar stars, mornings when neither of them bothered to leave the bed. Thirteen days in Thailand ought to have provided ample opportunity for two people to discover one another.

Instead, Addy discovered how little Emmet required her company.

He consummated the marriage on their first night.

After that, he became remarkably difficult to find.

There were scheduled excursions together—a temple, a private tour, dinner overlooking the water—but these outings invariably ended with Emmet finding some reason to excuse himself. He had calls to make. Papers to review. Someone at the hospital needed him.

Something involving his practice required immediate attention.

Then he disappeared.

At first, Addy hardly noticed.

She had never been abroad in such luxury. She had money to spend, beautiful places to visit, and the intoxicating novelty of being Mrs. Adeline Taylor. She shopped extravagantly and returned to the resort laden with bags, filling the hours with expensive distractions.

It took her several days to notice that their activities together were beginning to feel like appointments.

It took longer to realize that Emmet had not spent an entire night in their bed since they arrived.

On their final evening, Addy watched him finish dinner.

He checked his watch.

There it was.

She knew before he spoke.

“I have some things to take care of.”

Something inside her dropped.

Not dramatically.

Quietly.

Like an elevator cable snapping somewhere deep beneath the floor.

She suddenly understood that this was not the honeymoon.

This was the marriage.

The schedules. The brief appearances. The money left behind in place of affection. Emmet coming and going without explanation while she remained exactly where he expected to find her.

Addy opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

For the first time, she understood the imbalance between them so completely that she could almost feel its physical weight.

She was not his partner.

She was something closer to an employee who had been provided with a generous expense account.

The realization struck hard enough that her body jolted slightly in the chair.

Emmet either didn't notice or didn't care.

He bent down, kissed her forehead, and walked away.

The bill had already been paid.

Addy spent most of the flight home staring out the window.

There were so many questions she wished she possessed the courage to ask.

Had he loved his first wife more than he loved her?

Why had that marriage ended?

Why would he discuss almost nothing about it?

Had he respected that woman?

Had he spoken to her the way he spoke to Addy?

Most troubling of all was the question Addy could barely formulate:

Why did being Emmet's wife sometimes feel so much like being something he owned?

She promised herself she would speak to him when they reached home.

The opportunity never came.

At the airport, Emmet arranged for Addy to be driven to their new house.

He did not accompany her.

There were, he explained, legal documents requiring his attention before a board meeting the following morning.

The driver deposited Addy at the end of the driveway.

She stood there with her luggage and stared at the house.

She had visited it only a handful of times while it was being built.

In her imagination, arriving there as Emmet's wife had always been ceremonial. She had even pictured him carrying her across the threshold, though she would never have admitted to anyone how much the silly tradition pleased her.

Instead, a chauffeur removed her bags from a trunk.

The car drove away.

And Addy entered her marriage alone.

The house was enormous.

It was also nearly empty.

Not empty of furniture. Emmet had furnished it meticulously.

It was empty of evidence that human beings lived there.

The rooms were minimalist to the point of sterility. Stone. Glass. Metal. Expensive furniture positioned at exact angles. Nothing worn. Nothing sentimental. Nothing unnecessary.

Addy's footsteps followed her from room to room.

She began looking for her things.

Before the wedding, she and Alice had lovingly packed boxes for the new house.

Christmas decorations from her childhood.

Family photographs.

Old albums.

Her stuffed animals.

Little objects whose monetary value was negligible but whose presence, Addy imagined, would transform Emmet's architectural showpiece into a home.

She searched.

Nothing.

She searched the closets.

Nothing.

Eventually she wandered into the garage.

There, inside a wall locker, she found a plastic storage bin.

SORORITY.

Addy frowned.

She had not written the label.

In fact, none of the things she had shipped had been packed in plastic bins.

She opened it.

College merchandise.

Sweatshirts.

Shirts.

Various university souvenirs.

Most remained in their original packaging.

Addy stared down at them.

She had never bought any of it.

A chill passed through her that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The master bedroom was worse.

Her closet contained clothing.

Just not her clothing.

Dresses hung in orderly rows, all selected in her size. Designer labels. Tight silhouettes.

Plunging necklines. Short hems.

On the vanity sat cosmetics arranged almost clinically beside one another.

Dark red lipstick.

Heavy eye makeup.

Perfume.

Shoes waited beneath the clothes: towering platforms and stilettos.

Addy stood in the middle of it all.

The woman represented by the wardrobe looked like some gothic nightclub fantasy of

Emmet's invention.

She did not look like Addy.

There were no pajamas.

No old sweaters.

No comfortable shoes.

No robe.

No warm blanket she could drag downstairs and curl beneath.

Only lingerie.

Expensive lingerie.

Addy's eyes filled.

She understood then what must have happened to the boxes.

Her photographs.

Her Christmas decorations.

Her childhood toys.

All the little pieces of herself she had packed so carefully.

Gone.

Probably thrown away.

The designer labels surrounding her suddenly looked cheap.

She wanted to tear every dress from its hanger and throw the entire wardrobe into the fireplace.

She went downstairs.

The fireplace was decorative.

Of course it was.

Addy laughed once.

It came out sounding dangerously close to a sob.

The house was cold.

She approached the thermostat.

CODE REQUIRED.

She stared at it.

Emmet knew the code.

She considered calling him.

Then imagined his sigh.

His irritation.

The inevitable question of why she couldn't manage something so simple by herself.

She lowered her hand.

Instead, she called her mother.

Voicemail.

Addy stood there holding the telephone.

There was no one else she wanted to call.

Eventually she sank to the floor.

Her head struck the tile hard enough to make her gasp.

For several seconds she held her forehead.

Then she simply remained there.

Cold.

Humiliated.

Furious.

She stayed on the floor until morning, when she heard members of the household staff letting themselves inside.

Addy dragged herself upstairs before anyone found her.

The lump on her forehead had already begun to swell.

She showered slowly, stretching the routine as long as possible because she dreaded

opening the closet again.

Eventually she stood before Emmet's wardrobe for her.

A man might select these things for a woman, she thought.

A decent woman would never choose them for herself.

That thought brought unexpected comfort.

Perhaps there was another explanation.

Perhaps Meryl had been right about Emmet's first wife being intellectual and severe. Perhaps the woman had lacked something Emmet wanted.

Sensuality.

Maybe that was what he saw in Addy.

Maybe the clothes weren't about control.

Maybe they were desire.

Emmet had always bought jewelry for her before important events. He liked seeing her wear what he selected.

Was this really so different?

Jocko would have called it controlling.

Addy preferred attentive.

The distinction allowed her to get dressed.

She chose not to confront Emmet.

Perhaps that was cowardice.

Perhaps practicality.

Addy already knew how the conversation would unfold.

He would become irritated.

She would attempt to explain herself.

He would correct her.

Then he would continue correcting her until she became confused about why she had been upset in the first place.

Her family would be no better.

They would minimize it.

Explain it.

Or, worse, tell her to leave.

Addy hated that answer most of all.

Leave him.

As though those two words settled everything.

As though wanting a husband to respect you meant you secretly wanted a divorce.

She didn't want to leave Emmet.

She wanted him to love her correctly.

She assumed that would come with time.

So when Alice finally returned her call, Addy was wriggling herself into one of the tight dresses Emmet had chosen.

“How's the new house?” her mother asked.

Addy looked around the bedroom.

“Wonderful.”

She spent the day answering well-wishers and writing thank-you cards.

By nightfall, Emmet still had not returned.

One of the maids was preparing to leave when Addy casually asked whether Dr. Taylor had called.

The woman hesitated.

“No, ma'am.”

“Oh.”

Another pause.

“He may be staying at his condo.”

Addy looked at her.

“His condo?”

“In the city.”

The maid's expression changed immediately, as though she realized she had said something she shouldn't have.

“He stays there sometimes.”

Addy smiled.

“Oh, of course.”

She busied herself with absolutely nothing until the staff had gone.

Then she spent another night alone.

The following day passed the same way.

Morning became afternoon.

Afternoon became evening.

Addy found herself repeatedly drifting toward the front windows.

Every time a car approached the gate, hope rose involuntarily inside her.

Every time it passed, she pretended she had not been looking.

The staff noticed.

Their careful refusal to notice was worse.

By sunset, Addy had become a princess imprisoned in an ivory tower, except no one had imprisoned her.

The gates opened whenever she wished.

There was a car available.

Money.

Telephones.

She could go anywhere.

There was simply nowhere to go.

And no one was waiting for her when she arrived.

Eventually she called Emmet.

“What?”

That was how her husband answered.

Not hello.

Not Addy.

“What?”

She momentarily wondered whether he knew it was her.

Then remembered watching him save her number himself.

“I was just calling to say hello.”

Silence.

“And I wondered if we had any plans this weekend.”

The words made her feel absurd.

She sounded like a girl asking a reluctant stranger on a date.

“I'll be home when I'm finished working.”

“Oh.”

“I'm on call all week.”

“I didn't know.”

Another silence.

Then Emmet sighed.

“Addy, don't be needy.”

The call ended.

She remained holding the telephone against her ear.

She wanted to call Jocko.

Her thumb almost found his number.

Then she imagined his response.

I told you so.

She couldn't bear it.

Instead, she called Frances.

Frances answered.

But speaking with her was nearly impossible.

Every question received some vague response. Every attempt at conversation disappeared into a few careful words.

“How's school?”

“Fine.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Nothing much.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No.”

Addy became irritated.

She was making an effort.

A real effort.

For once she was trying to treat Frances like an actual sister, and Frances was giving her nothing.

Eventually Addy gave up.

Even now, she thought bitterly, Frances managed to be a disappointment.

Emmet was apparently on call quite often.

It was necessary, he said, to maintain his skills and hospital privileges.

Weeks passed.

Their marriage settled into precisely the pattern their courtship had established.

They saw one another perhaps once a week.

Sometimes less.

They rarely spent an entire night together.

Emmet had his career.

Addy had the maintenance of herself.

The only substantial difference between dating Dr. Taylor and marrying him was that she now possessed his last name and access to his money.

Even the money came with conditions.

One afternoon, Addy bought herself a slouchy wool sweater for lunch with him.

It was expensive, fashionable, and appropriate for a woman her age.

Emmet looked at her as though she had arrived wearing roadkill.

When she leaned forward to kiss him, he pulled away.

“Throw that ugly thing away. You look homeless.”

Addy's smile faltered.

“I'm sorry. The stylist said this look was popular.”

“I bought you nice clothes.”

“I know.”

“Then wear them.”

People were nearby.

Addy lowered her voice.

“I just thought—”

“Jesus, Addy. I have a reputation to protect. Do you ever think about anyone besides yourself?”

She stopped speaking.

“If you keep wasting money on garbage like that, I'll cancel the card.”

Emmet straightened his coat and signaled for the valet.

Their lunch apparently was no longer happening.

Addy watched his car disappear.

Then she looked down at herself.

The sweater was Brunello Cucinelli.

She pulled it over her head.

Beneath it she wore only a silk camisole.

The air was bitterly cold.

Addy dropped the sweater onto the sidewalk anyway.

Then she stood there shivering.

All she had wanted was lunch with her husband.

Over the following months, Addy discovered there were two kinds of people living behind expensive gates.

The first were successful families who were forever leaving their houses—to work, school, practices, meetings, dinners, vacations.

They had no space in their schedules for a lonely twenty-something housewife.

The second kind were people who owned so many houses they scarcely occupied any of them.

Addy learned this through repeated humiliation.

She attempted to make friends.

She hinted for invitations.

She inserted herself into conversations about dinners and family gatherings.

Nothing took.

Slowly, her world contracted.

Jocko's prediction began to seem less cruel and more prophetic.

Addy had become something like a butterfly pinned beneath glass.

Beautiful.

Preserved.

And incapable of going anywhere.

Her sorority friends drifted away.

The wedding had changed something between them. Some pitied her. Others judged her.

Rumors eventually made their way back.

She had married for money.

She had made her choice.

She should become self-sufficient if she was unhappy.

Addy wanted to scream whenever she heard that one.

Whenever she attempted to pursue an interest, Emmet ridiculed it.

When ridicule failed, obstacles appeared.

Appointments were canceled.

People suddenly became unavailable.

Plans fell apart for reasons nobody could adequately explain.

Emmet was never openly responsible.

That was the remarkable thing.

He simply seemed to inhabit a world in which events eventually arranged themselves according to his preferences.

When Addy tried explaining her unhappiness to anyone from her old life, the conversation frequently ended with the same suggestion.

Perhaps she should consider antidepressants.

Eventually, she stopped explaining.

Her mother became another problem.

Emmet never explicitly forbade Alice from visiting.

He didn't need to.

Whenever Addy mentioned her, his posture changed.

His voice cooled.

He made little observations about Alice's manners, her spending, her lack of refinement.

Then Alice returned several birthday gifts Addy had purchased for her and pocketed the money.

Emmet had predicted she would.

“A cheap woman always finds the cash value of a gift.”

Addy hated him for saying it.

She hated her mother more for proving him right.

Every attempt Addy made to establish herself socially failed.

Charity committees were already staffed.

Boards had no openings.

Social groups remained politely closed.

Even Emmet's colleagues seemed to regard her as something decorative he had inexplicably brought into the room.

At one dinner, Addy made what she considered a perfectly innocent observation.

Silence followed.

Someone looked at Emmet.

Emmet smiled.

The conversation continued around her.

Addy understood.

She was permitted to be seen.

Being heard was another matter.

Alice remained the great defender of Addy's marriage.

Her daughter had married up.

That fact absolved nearly everything.

When Addy complained that Emmet screened her calls for days, Alice reminded her that physicians were busy men.

When Addy admitted they barely spoke, Alice explained that the wife of an important man could not expect constant entertainment.

When Addy said she was lonely, Alice suggested a trainer.

Or the spa.

Or shopping.

“Do anything,” she said, “but sit around looking like a house frump.”

There was something Alice did not tell her daughter.

The Madison house was gone.

An anonymous buyer had made an offer despite the property never having been placed on the market.

Given their financial condition, refusing would have been madness.

The Madisons were leaving.

Tom's grand plans for resurrecting himself through Addy's marriage had failed spectacularly.

If anything, the wedding had accomplished the opposite.

Men who once listened politely to Tom's proposals stopped returning calls.

Potential investors vanished.

Doors closed.

Then creditors became unexpectedly aggressive.

Tom's remaining ambition collapsed.

Alice, meanwhile, regarded the anonymous offer on the house as providence.

She did not ask why providence required lawyers.

By the end of her first year of marriage, Addy knew there were exactly two circumstances in which she could reliably expect her husband to appear.

The first was when Emmet needed her beside him at a political dinner, hospital event, fundraiser, or public function.

The second was when he entertained colleagues at home and required the appearance of domestic normality.

On those occasions, Addy became useful.

She dressed correctly.

She smiled.

She said pleasant things when spoken to.

She learned not to speak too much.

In the beginning, the money had made it tolerable.

Designer clothes.

Jewelry.

Spa appointments.

Beauty treatments.

Then Emmet began dictating those things too.

Her jewelry started to feel like chains.

Her wardrobe became a uniform.

Sometimes she had to perform while sick.

Sometimes exhausted.

Increasingly, she performed while so melancholy that getting out of bed required an act of will.

When she finally complained to Alice, her mother reminded her about the prenuptial agreement.

“You signed it.”

Addy knew.

She had signed nearly everything Emmet's attorneys placed before her.

At the time, refusing would have made her look like exactly what everyone suspected she was.

A gold digger.

Some stubborn remnant of pride still wanted to prove them wrong.

But the truth was becoming impossible to avoid.

Her modeling prospects were fading.

Her degree offered little practical security.

She had no career.

No meaningful savings of her own.

And she had signed a document specifically designed to make leaving Emmet expensive.

For the first time in her life, Addy began to understand that luxury and security were not necessarily the same thing.

That spring, she went to Baja to visit her parents.

Emmet encouraged the trip.

He had “projects” to handle.

Addy didn't ask what they were.

She wanted sunlight.

Beaches.

Food.

Most of all, she wanted several days in which no one inspected what she wore before she left the house.

Even packing clothes Emmet disliked made her feel guilty.

She packed them anyway.

Alice had become tan.

This alone seemed unnatural.

The woman who had once guarded her complexion like a museum piece now spent entire afternoons reclining near the water.

Tom had undergone a less flattering transformation.

He sat on the veranda when Addy arrived and did not bother standing to greet her.

He had gained weight. He drank heavily. He ate fried food with the appetite of a man

attempting to fill something that food could not reach.

For several days, father and daughter remained guarded around one another.

Then Emmet's name came up.

Something thawed.

Tom hated him.

Addy was beginning to.

That proved sufficient common ground.

At night, Alice drank until she fell asleep.

Then Tom talked.

He reminisced about old deals, old partners, old opportunities. Each story became slightly grander as the tequila bottle emptied.

On Addy's final night, the stories stopped.

“There is something I never told you about the wedding,” Tom said.

Addy looked up from her plate.

“Emmet never paid me back.”

“For what?”

“The deposits. All of it.”

Addy frowned.

“I thought he was supposed to.”

“So did I.”

Tom poured another drink.

“He knew for weeks he was changing everything. Your dress. The flowers. The entertainment. All of it. And he let me keep paying deposits anyway.”

Addy stared at him.

There was something she hadn't told her father either.

During a shopping trip in the city, Alice had let something slip.

“Dad.”

Tom looked at her.

“Mom told me Emmet contacted the people you were trying to do business with.”

Tom stopped moving.

“She said he told them not to deal with you.”

For several seconds, her father said nothing.

Then he blinked hard, as though sobriety might be achieved by force.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“I got a whiff we were being blackballed at the wedding.”

He leaned toward her.

“But then the debts got called.”

Addy frowned.

“What?”

“One after another. Suddenly everyone wanted their money.”

He gestured vaguely toward the house around them.

“And then someone makes an offer on our place when it isn't even for sale.”

The room seemed quieter.

“You think Emmet bought the house?”

“I think your husband has been moving pieces around a board none of us knew we were

standing on.”

Addy sat very still.

She thought about the wedding.

The salon.

The dress.

The flowers.

Her father's investors.

The creditors.

The anonymous buyer.

Appointments canceled.

Plans mysteriously ruined.

People who stopped returning telephone calls.

For the first time, the incidents did not seem separate.

A single shape was beginning to emerge from them.

Then Addy thought of Frances.

“Maybe he isn't completely awful.”

Tom stared at her.

“He's helping Frances.”

“What?”

“With her surgery.”

Tom's expression changed.

“He promised he'd do it for free. Maybe afterward he could help her get back into school.”

Her father put down his glass.

“Back into school?”

Addy nodded.

“After what happened.”

“What happened?”

Addy hesitated.

“With Frances.”

Tom continued staring.

“Her breakdown.”

“What breakdown?”

The silence that followed was different from the others.

Addy felt it immediately.

“Mom said Frances couldn't handle college.”

Tom's face had gone strangely blank.

“That she had to come home.”

“Addy.”

“What?”

“Frances is in school.”

Addy stared at him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“She dropped out.”

“No, she didn't.”

Tom pushed the tequila away.

For the first time that evening, he seemed completely sober.

“She has a scholarship.”

Addy felt something tighten in her chest.

“Since when?”

“Since before your wedding.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“She went back.”

“No.”

“She did.”

Addy shook her head.

“I've talked to her.”

“When?”

“On the phone.”

“What did she say?”

Addy opened her mouth.

Nothing useful came to mind.

Fine.

Nothing much.

No.

Careful little answers that had irritated her at the time.

Tom was watching her.

“We haven't seen her,” he said.

Addy stopped breathing for a moment.

“What?”

“Your mother and I haven't seen Frances since your wedding.”

“That isn't possible.”

“We haven't heard from her either.”

Addy stared across the table.

“She told me—”

She stopped.

Frances had told her almost nothing.

Emmet, however, had told her plenty.

That Frances was fine.

That he was helping her.

That there was nothing to worry about.

Addy remembered the plastic bin in her garage.

SORORITY.

The merchandise she had never purchased.

Still sealed in its packaging.

She remembered Frances's bedroom before the wedding.

The photographs.

The semester schedules.

The crumpled Dean's List certificate.

Frances polishing silver in the dark.

Crying.

Emmet looking across the rehearsal dinner at her.

Emmet offering to “work on” her.

The pieces did not fit.

That was what frightened Addy most.

They almost did.

Neither she nor Tom spoke.

They had no accusation to make because they did not yet understand what they were accusing him of.

They possessed only fragments.

A ruined family.

An anonymous buyer.

A vanished girl.

A husband who seemed capable of reaching into people's lives without ever appearing to touch them.

Addy looked toward the dark windows.

For the first time since marrying Emmet, she did not feel abandoned by him.

She felt watched.

And somewhere beyond that room, beyond Baja, beyond anything either of them could presently see, someone was still pulling the strings.