I've really been away from him and . . .” She stops, looks at the table mat, and takes a deep breath.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, it's just that saying this will make it a reality, which is pretty scary. You know how you can think something and as long as it stays in your head it's fine because you can pretend it's not really there, and sometimes it goes away, but then as soon as you say it out loud it becomes real and you can never take it back?”
“I know,” Bella says gently. “Just for the record, whatever it is you're about to say, you don't have to say it if it makes you feel in any way uncomfortable. If you don't want it to be real, maybe you should think twice before saying it.”
“No, it's not terrible. I'm not saying it's over or anything. But Bella, I've been feeling so trapped.” The pain in her eyes is clear, and Bella reaches over and takes her hand. “I've just felt so numb for months, and not being able to get pregnant, and . . .” She stops. “God! I haven't even thought about the pregnancy since I got here. Can you believe that?”
“Why is that so strange? You've been here less than twenty-four hours.”
“But Bella, I've been obsessed with getting pregnant for months. It's all I think about. I lie in bed fantasizing about my baby, and I wake up blaming Mark, and spend the rest of the day feeling alternately gooey and angry whenever I pass babies or baby shops.”
“Not a great thing to be feeling, considering there's the most enormous baby boom in New York right now and every second person you pass is a foot high and sitting up in a buggy.”
“Exactly! That's the point. I must have been aware of it, even today, walking around, but I didn't think about it in terms of how it affected me!” Her voice is excited, rushed. “Bella, I feel like the black cloud that's been following me around for months has finally gone.”
“I think,” Bella says seriously, “that black cloud is called depression. I personally would have suggested Prozac, but if retail therapy did the trick, then so be it.”
“I'm not on a shopping high,” Julia warns.
“Right. Sure.” Bella sweeps her eyes over the bags at Julia's feet. “But seriously, I do think you need the space to clear your head. That whole me, me, me thing is so typical. Isolating and being angry with the world because you can't control it isn't exactly abnormal when you're suffering from depression.”
“How come you know so much about it?”
“I'm a daytime television producer. I know very little about an awful lot, what's the expression? Jack of all trades, master of none? That's me. Don't question it. It's my job.”
“Bella, I love you.”
“I know, darling. I'm your fairy godmother. And I love you too, and more to the point I'm extremely glad you're feeling better because tonight, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball.”
It isn't a ball. It's a private party in a large bar in SoHo. Julia manages to fight off her jet lag, and they arrive at 11:10 P.M., Bella resplendent in a red chiffon and feather number, and Julia in a more orthodox but still beautiful black dress and little beaded cardigan.
They push through the crowds of people to the bar, and within ten minutes they have each had two drinks apiece, bought for them by different men.
Julia shouts to be heard above the crowd, laughs and flirts all evening. She gives her—or rather Bella's—number to three men, and has the time of her life.
This evening she:
Drinks seven apple martinis. Or possibly eight. She loses count around six.
Is chatted up by five men, and is fairly certain of admiring glances from at least three more.
Hits the dance floor with wild abandon and lets her hair down in a way she hasn't done for years, and, what's more, knows she looks pretty damn good while doing so (although, again, that could be the apple martinis).
Passes Sarah Jessica Parker while walking through the room, and actually touches her arm to get past.
Meets Sarah Jessica Parker later in the loo, although it isn't actually Sarah Jessica Parker, just someone who looks very like her, but nevertheless the SJP-lookalike comes straight up to Julia and gushes, “I love your sweater, it's beautiful, where did you get it?” (Julia considers saying Whistles, but figures it wouldn't mean anything, so with an apologetic expression she