FIC: "MODE: Final Issue!" (Ugly Betty, B/D and lots more pairings besides, PG13), part 4 of 4

[yahtzee63]

16. December 2011

The Meade Publications holiday party isn’t the grand affair it was even when he worked there, Matt thinks. Everything has been scaled down now, even the tree in the lobby. But even off-brand champagne sparkles, and everybody just looks happy to still have jobs. Wilhelmina Slater, resplendent in red, leans on the arm of Connor Owens - the company’s unexpected financial savior -- as they chat with Marc St. James. They’re all laughing as though they have no problems in the world.

Can some of that rub off on me? Matt wishes.

Since his return from Africa, his parents have made it clear that he has a choice: He can be their son, or he can be Tyler’s brother. Matt has chosen Tyler, mostly to piss them off, but also because there’s no way he’s walking away from the only brother he’ll ever have. If anybody’s doing any walking away, it will have to be his parents - and so far, they’re okay with that. While he can live with his choice, it’s not always easy, especially around this time of year.

For instance, walking across the room toward him - wearing a short spangled gold gown - is his sister-in-law. “Amanda. You look beautiful.”

“Well, duh. Isn’t this dress awesome? I Craved it last week. Speaking of which, check it out!” Amanda says, holding up several copies of a magazine - not one of Meade’s. It’s FORBES, with Daniel staring out from beneath the title; the cover line reads The New Moguls. “Claire’s having me put it all around. I think she’s just proud that he got on the cover of a magazine for something besides his sexcapades.”

“It wasn’t always Daniel’s sex life they wrote about,” Matt says. “Remember that time he got caught eating at a four-star restaurant the night before asking for a government bailout?”

“Oh, yeah, right!” She plops the stack of magazines down on a table so that she can grab the whole snack tray from a waiter. “So, are you having a good time?”

“As good as can be expected.”

Their eyes meet, and he knows she can see the old longing that hasn’t entirely died away. She does him the courtesy of pretending not to understand. “Your parents suck.”

“They do. Someday, though, I have to believe Dad will at least want to get to know Tyler. He’s too good a guy for Dad to ignore forever.”

“Whatevs. Daniel’s super-mega-rich now, and you can bet Cal Hartley’s going to want a piece of that action, so sooner or later, he’ll come sucking up to Tyler as a way to try and get to Daniel. Because God knows Daniel hates his ass so much that your dad won’t get through any other way.”

“Whoa.” Matt blinks, then grabs a sustaining hors d’oeuvre from her snack tray. “That’s totally how it’s going to play out, isn’t it?”

She shrugs. “You hang around the Meades long enough, you start to get wise. Speaking of which, Claire’s acting weird tonight. She got a call right after she gave me the magazines and skulked off. Seriously, it reminded me of how she was acting after she murdered my mom.”

“Wait - Claire murdered your mother?”

“Just my birth mother. Mom mom is fine,” Amanda says blithely. “Oh, look, there’s Sofia Reyes. She looks awesome, but I think I’m going to ask her when she’s going to lose the baby weight. That can be my Christmas present to Daniel.” She walks off. “Later, skater!”

Meades, Matt thinks. And I believed the Hartleys were bad.

He flips through FORBES to scan Daniel’s article. Generic photos, generic story about seizing opportunity, but in one corner is a small picture from some fancy charity bash. It’s captioned: “With girlfriend Beatriz U. Suarez, British media personality.” Betty looks good - looks happy, anyway - though in Matt’s opinion, without the braces she loses a certain something.

What is it he’s looking for, anyway? Matt’s never been entirely sure. Workwise, at least, he’s figured it out; in retrospect, it seems obvious that he was going to open a gallery of African art and publish a blog on the subject. But with women, he doesn’t know. He just feels the empty space where love ought to be, and nothing else is ever going to fill it.

“Hey, bro,” Tyler says, before frowning. “Okay, I’m never saying ‘bro’ again.”

“I prefer ‘blood.’ So, what’s happening Christmas Day?”

“Holiday at Meade Manor. In addition to me and Amanda and Spencer, and maybe Alexis and DJ, the whole Suarez clan is coming in from Queens on Christmas night, including the Betty and Daniel Transatlantic Express. You okay with that?”

“I am if they are.” He realizes how nice it would be to see Betty again, actually, but just as he begins to say so, Claire hurries to Tyler’s side. She looks haggard. Worse than haggard. Ghostly. Members of the Addams Family would say she looked pale. “Claire, are you all right?”

“We have to talk. This instant.” Matt starts to excuse himself, but she clutches at his arm. “This concerns you too, Matt. You should stay.”

Tyler leans in. “Mom, what’s the matter? Amanda mentioned you were -”

“Skulking around like I did after I killed Fey.” When Matt’s eyes widen, she says, “Perfume-induced psychosis. Long story. Stick to patchouli. Listen, Tyler - several months ago I became aware that there were … irregularities with your birth certificate.”

She’s not his mother, Matt thinks. Dad’s not his father. The sense of loss is so immediate, so sickening, that for the first time he realizes how deeply he’s come to love Tyler. But somehow he senses that’s not the right answer.

For his part, Tyler looks as horrorstruck as Matt feels. “Tell me.”

“When I gave birth to you, I asked for drugs. Lots and lots and lots of drugs,” Claire says. “I was blurry on the details, and in fact for several days after, which is why I never realized -”

“All right!” yells a man striding into the center of the party. “Which one of you bitches is my mother?”

The man looks exactly like Tyler.

“An evil twin,” Tyler whispers. “I always knew it was gonna be an evil twin.”

Said evil twin - Matt’s other brother, who seems to be named Jason - has had a great deal to drink, and he does NOT want to be quiet, and he is not nearly as psychologically prepared for a twin as Tyler seems to be. Which is why, within seconds, Tyler and Jason are fighting it out in the middle of the party.

“Oh, my God,” Amanda says as she and Matt make their way toward the edge of the room. “It’s like Tyler times two. Do you think if they ever make it up, they could be sharesies?”

“Please tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

“Like you’ve never wished your sex partner had double the appendages. I mean, his twin is just another him, so it wouldn’t be like cheating, right? Not if he was there, anyway. ”

Matt is about to say that they should probably try to look after Claire when the twins crash into the 30-foot holiday tree. It sways precariously from side to side, and the crowd begins to scream as it starts to topple to the floor. One woman is right in its path, about to get crushed -

He dashes toward her, tackles her around the waist and takes them down to the floor and safety just before the tree collapses right next to them. Broken plastic from the ornaments sprays his back and arms, but it doesn’t hurt, just stings.

“Are you okay?” Matt says, looking down at her, which is when his heart flip-flops in his chest.

This woman - there’s something about her, something he recognizes on first sight. He can’t define it, but it’s like the best of what he’d loved in Amanda’s spirit and in Betty’s, all wrapped into one person. She’s skinny to the point of awkwardness, dressed in a jumper that says she doesn’t give a damn about fashion, and just inexplicably perfect.

“Yeah,” she whispers. There’s a slight lisp to her voice, which only makes her more adorable. “Wow. One minute I was hanging out with the rest of the NYW girls, and the next, you saved my life.”

Nothing like a good first impression, he decides. “I’m Matt.”

“Ruthie.” And just like that, Christmas doesn’t seem as lonely anymore.

17. February 2012

Betty’s whole body hurts from crying. Her ribs ache. Her throat is sore. Her head throbs with a dull wet headache that seems to weigh a hundred pounds. Every muscle has been tense for so long that she’s started to tremble.

“Have another,” Christina says, pouring two more fingers of Scotch into Betty’s glass. “After what you’ve been through, nobody could blame you for downing the whole bottle.”

What you’ve been through. How uncharacteristically tactful of Christina to put it that way. What she means is, After Daniel cheated on you.

Everything came crashing down several hours ago. She’d planned to have a lengthy business lunch with Alan to discuss a potential TV show of her own, but he’d had to cancel, and with that unexpected long window in the middle of the day, she’d decided to do a little shopping. It would be fun, and maybe she could console herself for Daniel’s absence on yet another business trip, this time to an investor’s meeting in a posh hotel in Oxford.

That was when her phone rang, and it was Billie and Maureen on the other line.

“Betty, we’re only telling you this because, if it were one of us, we’d want to know-”

“Not that it would ever be, love.”

“Yes, that’s sweet, Maureen, but the point is we hate to gossip and maybe it’s none of our business and yet we should so regret not telling you something that you need to be aware of - ”

“And you do need to be aware, because I for one wouldn’t put up with it for a second, but you have to decide what’s right for you, and we won’t judge -”

“Guys!” Betty had broken in. “What is it?”

A pause. “Well, we’re out to Oxford for a gathering of Maureen’s old school friends -”

“-and it so happens we’re at the Malmaison, which turns out to be the same place as Daniel’s meeting, and so that’s how - oh, this is harder than I thought it would be when you get down to it-”

“Betty, dearest, I’m sorry. Daniel’s not here alone. A rather bombshell blonde dined with him last night and - and she breakfasted with him this morning, and we hid behind the potted palms so he wouldn’t see us, which meant we couldn’t really see that much either, but there’s no question she’s rather more than an investor. Oh, were we right to tell you? We shouldn’t have told, should we?”

“You did right,” Betty had managed to say, before disconnecting the call and slumping against the nearest streetlamp. The rest is all a blur, though she knows she got on the Tube, vomited once in a station bin, and somehow got herself to Christina’s.

Now, her phone is off, because she doesn’t want to talk to anyone except Christina. Besides, she’s already made the only call she needed to. Assuming Daniel is not “too busy” to check his voicemail, he knows by now that she knows, and exactly what she thinks of him.

You haven’t changed at all. You’re still the stupid, shallow, womanizing boy I met six years ago. You’re just better at pretending that you’re different. I guess you were always going to use someone, but why did you have to use me? Why wasn’t being my friend enough for you? I wish you’d never come to London. No - I wish I’d never known you.

“We’re supposed to go home to New York in three days,” she croaks. Her voice is hollow, and it feels like she’s swallowed sandpaper. “I guess I’m going alone.”

“You need your sister at a time like this,” Christina says, rubbing her back. “Your father. It’ll do you good.”

But Hilda and Papi will be so crushed. And Claire - but will Betty ever even speak to Claire again? She’s become a second mother in the past two years, and it’s just one more reminder of everything Betty has lost.

Daniel, she thinks, how could you? We built all this together. You had to know what it would do to me. Are you still incapable of thinking with anything but your -

“Hello there!” Stuart calls as he comes in the door, little William behind him. “We did what you said and had a lovely long afternoon at the arcade -“

“And now you’re taking William out for pizza,” Christina says firmly.

“Pizza!” William holds up his hands in sheer victory. He is probably the only person this situation is working out for.

Stuart opens his mouth to object, but then he sees Betty, and she must look even more miserable than she feels, because he immediately says, “I’ve never heard such a good idea as pizza. We’ll go - clear across the city. Probably won’t get back until after William’s bedtime.”

“Marvelous. Now off with you.” Christina waves as they depart.

Betty tries to imagine what she’ll do next, and there are no shortage of possibilities. While she doesn’t have anything like Daniel’s wealth, the media hub known as FM means she can more than take care of herself. There are other neighborhoods of London, new places that won’t have as many memories. She has always been aware that her relationship with Alan could take on a new dimension if she wished it; the idea has never had any appeal before this moment, when it takes on the dark, oil-slick luster of revenge.

Gareth and Fiona eventually appear, having heard the news from Billie and Maureen, who seem to have gotten over their reluctance to gossip. Fiona clearly feels awkward - they’ve never really made friends - but Gareth wants to help, just hasn’t a clue how.

“It’s okay, Gareth,” Betty says between sniffles. “You’re Daniel’s friend as much as mine. You don’t have to take sides.”

“I’m not taking sides. I’m merely offering to buy you massive quantities of gin.”

“It’s a good offer,” Christina points out. “Don’t sneer at it.”

Betty doesn’t want to ask this, and yet she wants to know desperately. “Have you talked to Daniel?”

“Tried to reach him, but couldn’t,” Gareth says. “Perhaps, given the situation, he’s - lying low.”

“Low as a snake,” Christina adds, and while Betty knows she’s only saying this as a sign of solidarity, she wishes everyone would shut up and go away. Including Christina, even though this is her house, which makes that kind of unlikely.

Then there’s a car door slamming in the driveway. Great, more people, Betty thinks, fresh tears springing to her eyes - but even through the blur, she recognizes who’s come to the door. “Alexis?” What is she doing in London?

“Good lord!” Christina lets her in. “Alexis! Been ages. Framed anyone for murder lately?”

“How could I, without you to help me?” Alexis replies smoothly, never looking away from Betty. She looks more annoyed than relieved to have found her. “Daniel sent me out as a search party this afternoon, but he won’t talk about what’s going on. Do you mind explaining why I just had to search your office, your old neighborhood, and the fish and chips place on game night?”

Betty shoots back, “Ask Daniel. He’s the one our friends saw having dinner and breakfast with some blonde in Oxford - ” Her voice trails off as Alexis’ eyes widen, and the truth is suddenly there, so obvious it hurts.

“That was me,” Alexis says. “I finally bought into Crave, so I flew in for the investors’ meeting last-minute. People thought I was sleeping with Daniel? Oh, eww.”

“Well, weren’t you?” Fiona challenges her.

Alexis draws herself up to her full height, which is considerable, even without the tall heels she always wears. “He’s my brother. And believe me, my family is screwed up, but not that screwed up.”

Confusion darkens Fiona’s features. “But - I thought Daniel’s sister was somebody who’d been born a man. That can’t be you, can it?”

Gareth interjects, “Don’t be a dope, Fiona. Of course Alexis was born a woman. Just in an inconvenient package for the first couple of decades, there.”

“Thank you,” Alexis says with satisfaction.

Grinning, Gareth says, “No need to thank me for pointing out the obvious. Nobody looking at you could doubt this result was God’s intent. So - do you come to Britain often?”

Betty says, slowly, “It was you in Oxford. You’re the woman Billie and Maureen saw.”

Alexis nods. “No other blondes, Betty. I swear.” Though she has been known to bend the truth - slightly - on occasion, it’s obvious that this time she’s being honest.

All of this was for nothing.

“Well!” Christina says brightly. “That puts rather a new spin on things. Excuse me a mo.” She picks up her cell and hits redial. “Thank God, it’s his voicemail again. Daniel! Christina here. Sorry about before. It’s all straightened out now. I won’t be taking my pinking shears to you after all. You can keep your nuts. See you around!”

Fiona comes to sit by Betty’s side at the kitchen table. “Are you all right?”

“I - yeah.” Betty knows she ought to feel relieved. Overjoyed, even. But instead that call she made to Daniel earlier is looming larger and larger in her mind. She chose her words to hurt. There’s no taking that acid back. “Oh, my God. How’s Daniel?”

“Not so good.” Betty would be grateful to hear, in her tone of voice, that Alexis cares so much about Daniel if the situation were any less dire.

“Not so good upset or not so good angry?”

Sighing, Alexis says, “It’s really not an either/or situation.”

“I feel like an idiot,” Betty says.

“Don’t you dare!” Christina says. “You had the information from people who made an understandable mistake.”

“But I should have asked him about it. Heard him out. Some of the things I said to Daniel -”

Gareth hugs her around the shoulders. “Go home. Talk it through with him. Like as not, he’ll be so relieved to see you that the rest won’t matter.”

Betty wishes that were true, but she knows it’s not.

**

She opens her own door with hesitation. Daniel’s sitting on the couch, still in his business suit, though it’s disheveled, a glass of something amber in both hands. There’s a sad greasy bag of takeout on the far end of the coffee table. When she walks in, he breathes out heavily; it’s both relief and resignation.

“Okay,” she says. “I - jumped to conclusions.”

“You listened to Billie and Maureen,” he says. “They’re the ones who said Iceland set off the volcano a couple years ago on purpose. And now you’re taking their word for everything?”

Betty sits on the couch too, but at the far end. It would be a mistake to pretend there’s no new distance between them. “I should’ve had more faith in you,” she said. “I should have at least asked you what was going on before I - before I said some of the things I’ve said.”

“Who could blame you? Everybody knows my reputation.”

There’s real acid in his words. Betty never realized it before, but now she knows: Between them, refusing to admit that the other has changed is the greatest sin. “Daniel, I’m sorry. I was angry; I didn’t mean it.”

“You really don’t think I’m any different than I used to be.” Daniel’s still looking down at his ice cubes, not at her. “You think now that I’m - on top of the world again, I’m going to go right back to using people as playthings.”

She weighs her answer, trying hard to hew close to the truth. “The reason I thought you could be like that - that the money and everything could have affected you - sometimes I think they’re getting to me. Being on TV and looking glamorous and having money: It’s all great and it’s fun but - there are days I don’t recognize myself. And then they said they saw you with some beautiful woman, and it was like I went right back to being that girl who was stuck at home the night of the prom.” The perfect storm of the worst of before and after, and she doesn’t know which she hates more.

Daniel finally looks at her, but he appears so beat-up, so bruised, that she wishes he hadn’t. “The past six years, I’ve counted on you to keep me centered. I never even asked myself if I needed to do that in return. Maybe you’re right, Betty. I haven’t changed. I’m still leaning on you.”

“I was wrong. Completely wrong. I just wish we could - forget this whole thing ever happened.”

“Okay.” He’s not angry any longer. He’s depressed. Daniel still has this tendency to put her on a pedestal, to take her failings as catastrophic and her criticism as being twice as harsh as she meant it. And this time, she meant to be harsh. The weight of what she said isn’t going to lift in an evening. She wishes he’d fly off the handle, the way he used to; their fight would be terrible, but at least it would all be out there, not bleeding them both from the inside. But she dreads starting fights, and Daniel doesn’t freak out as much anymore. He’s trying - in his wrongheaded but sincere way - to put it behind them. “Honestly, Billie and Maureen. I know they meant well, but -”

“Someone should take away their mobile,” Betty offers.

“Mobile instead of cell phone.” A corner of Daniel’s mouth lifts, not quite a smile. “I get the center square on assimilation bingo.”

The old joke lifts a little of the tension, and he saved her some takeout food. Neither of them wants to talk any more about it tonight, so they watch a dumb movie with a lot of explosions and go to bed early. There’s no question of making love, but when she spoons around Daniel, he doesn’t push her away. Instead he grasps her hand so that he won’t let go even in sleep.

**

They return to New York as scheduled, and the familiarity helps somewhat. Stephanie is a beautiful baby - Hilda all over again, according to her father - and Betty gets to revel in being an aunt. It’s a more uncomplicated reaction than she had when she was ten, and Justin initially seemed to be nothing more than a squalling lump that demanded everyone’s attention. On that first afternoon, Claire comes by too, purportedly to welcome Daniel and Betty back - but there’s no missing how friendly she is with Ignacio, or her genuine affection toward the baby. She wants to hold her every second Bobby can be convinced to put her down.

Justin calls from L.A. in the middle of the afternoon to say hello. After the initial passing around of the phone, Betty gets him to herself and wanders onto the back stoop.

“What’s the matter, Aunt Betty?”

Even when he was hardly more than a baby, Justin was somebody who could hear the real truth. “I’m standing here looking into the house, and Hilda’s nursing Stephanie, and Daniel is showing her and Bobby some of my TV clips, and I think Papi is trying to teach Claire how to make cupcakes, which … is not going to work out, but that’s beside the point. And somehow - despite the evidence in front of my eyes, despite everything that’s happened to me in the past few years - I still can’t believe it’s all changed so much.”

Justin is quiet for a few moments, enough so that she can hear kids laughing and carrying on elsewhere in his dorm. “I was talking about this with Marc the other day. Well, not this specific situation, but transformation generally.”

Marc St. James has remained on-call for a Mexican kid from Queens for six solid years. It’s a good reminder that people really do change. “How’s he doing?”

“Rumor is Wilhelmina’s going to make him creative director at MODE, though of course she won’t tell him until the last minute. And he’s still blue about his breakup with Troy. I keep telling him that there’s a person out there who will love him forever, but he doesn’t believe me yet. Well, someday.”

Poor Marc. “So, transformation. What did you guys decide?”

“You can’t let go of the past. It makes you what you are. But you can’t let it lock you in, either. You have to take the best parts of what was and carry it forward into what will be.” He pauses. “Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not positive I didn’t get that from a Sondheim lyric, but nonetheless, it remains true.”

Betty isn’t sure how to weave that into her life, but she knows Justin’s right. “When did you get so wise, huh?”

“Second grade, remember? When I sensed the exact day and hour Britney Spears peaked?”

“Of course.”

**

They decide that Betty will stay in Queens tonight while Daniel goes into Manhattan to stay at his mother’s and have dinner with her, Tyler and Amanda, and maybe Jason if his meds are especially effective today. This isn’t that unusual - they often split a night or two when they come back to New York City - but Betty can detect some hesitation from Daniel. Things are improving between them, but the wounds she tore are still open.

She sits up late with Papi, watching his latest favorite telenovela. “Neighbours” is no substitute for the really good Colombian serials, in Betty’s opinion. This one is set in some vaguely colonial past, who knows when, so the actresses can wear elaborate dresses, and the men’s shirts can all be open to the waist.

“I wish they told you exactly when these things were set,” she says between bites of cupcake. “Gave you a little more information, you know?”

“I just wish they would tell us if Eduardo pulled through.” Papi’s focus is unwavering.

A new idea, fuzzy and indistinct, rolls through Betty’s mind - the idea of somehow digitally inserting more information into a TV show. Instead of building websites with extra info, why not encode purchase information for songs and fashion and technology in a program straight into the digital download? And why not more, besides? This telenovela could include bios of the actors, historical articles about the time period, everything.

It’s such a whim that she would forget about it, if it weren’t for the villainess’ appearance at that moment. “Who is this?” she idly asks her father. She already knows this character is evil, just because of the eye makeup.

“Oh, she’s a piece of work. Mrs. Maggi, the Italian widow who wants the estate.”

“Did you say Mrs. Maggi?” Betty sits bolt upright on the sofa. “Oh, my God!”

“You gotta look out for that one,” Papi says.

She makes a mental note to tell Daniel about all this later - but thinking of Daniel reminds her of the uncertainty between them.

Or, as Betty has come to realize is closer to the mark, the uncertainty within herself that is affecting them.

Betty goes to sleep in her old room, in her old bed. Her dad saved one set of Disney sheets for her: Beauty and the Beast. She traces the outlines of the sparkling rose the same way she used to when she was 20. Peel away her naivety and add eight years of experience, and she still thinks the rose is beautiful.

She doesn’t have to set everything from her past aside. But she has to hold close to what counts.

An empty bed feels strange to her now, and she wakes every couple of hours, expecting to find Daniel by her side. He’s across the city - which in New York can feel like it’s across the world. He, too, is asleep in his childhood bedroom, directly above a foyer with marble floors, 30-foot ceilings and a chandelier. And she knows him well enough to know that he’s tossing and turning as well, looking for her even in sleep.

At one point, Betty looks at the clock: it’s not long past four. Then she realizes exactly what she wants to do.

She grabs her cell phone. On the third ring, Daniel groggily says, “Hello?”

“Remember that night six years ago?” she says. “When I stood in for Gisele, and we crashed that wedding and went out to the Queensborough bridge?”

“Uhm. Yeah? Yeah.” He struggles toward wakefulness. “Betty, are you okay?”

“Better than okay.” She cradles the phone to her cheek almost lovingly. “I said I was going to go out to the bridge at 5 a.m. to see the city at its quietest. Remember what you said?”

“That you should call me, and I would meet you.”

“Tonight’s the night.”

“All right,” he says, and even though he must be as jet-lag weary as she is, she can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m on my way.”

Betty dresses warmly - it’s snowing lightly - and leaves a note for Papi, in case he rises before she gets back. Hailing a cab in their neighborhood is never easy, especially at this hour, so she calls a car service and manages to beat Daniel there. For a few moments she stands alone, watching the soft glow of the city through the haze of glittering snow. A flake lands on the corner of one lens of her glasses, briefly giving the world a border of lace. It’s chilly enough that, for a moment, she misses her old sky-blue parka.

At long last she sees Daniel walking toward her on the bridge. Betty waits for him with her arms on the rail. “Hi,” she says, once he’s close enough.

“I could see your smile 30 feet away.” Daniel wraps his arms around her, leather-gloved hands in her hair, and for a long while they simply stand in each other’s embrace. Here, more than anywhere else, she can feel the difference between then and now - and feel how much is still the same. The dissonance doesn’t bother Betty any longer.

Finally, Daniel says, “I always hated that we never did this before. We should have a long time ago.”

“Yeah, we should. But we’re here now.” Betty looks up at him and takes his hands in hers. “I believe in you. I believe in how you’ve changed, and who you’ve become. But I also believe that the best part of you - that’s always been there, and always will be.”

It moves him more than she would have expected. “You know I feel the same, right?”

The past presents the future. You carry the best of what was into what will be. “I know. And that’s why I want you to marry me.”

Daniel’s face lights up in both joy and disbelief. “You’re proposing?”

“Women can propose, you know. It’s the 21st century.” Betty feels like she’s nothing but her smile. “Welcome to the future.”

18. Epilogue - December 2019

“Tonight, on Fashion TV, a special retrospective on the final print issue of style icon MODE magazine! Suzuki St. Pierre here to relive the ups and the downs - and we’re not just talking about hemlines!

“Doyennes and denizens of fashion enclaves around the globe crashed harder than a runway model on a pair of nine-inch heels when Meade Publications announced that MODE would go flexview only after the historic 2019 Holiday Issue. MODE editor Marc St. James proclaimed that this the next great step in the magazine’s evolution.”

A clip of Marc appears on-screen. At 39, he’s still handsome, perhaps even more so. “Flexview is the future. And what is fashion - and MODE magazine - if not a look toward the future?” His face dissolves back into Suzuki’s, whose hair is as spiked as ever, though now pure white.

“Ironically, the flexview innovator, instashopping titan Daniel Meade, is himself a part owner of Meade Publications and a former editor in chief. Once, he was among fashion’s original bad boys.” The screen shows file footage from 2005 of Daniel stumbling out of a nightclub with inebriated, anorexic models on each arm, then walking straight into a streetlamp and falling onto the pavement. “But now he’s a manwhore no more! For the better part of a decade, he’s reshaped the retail scene with his visionary Crave, Grab and Clutch applications. Flexview, his company’s radical multimedia fusion of television, print and interactivity, looks likely to do the same thing to entertainment. And he gives the credit for this brainchild to his wife of six years, Betty Suarez Meade, aka the British Oprah, but without all the weird stuff!”

An icon zooms toward the viewer, reading FUN TRIVIA FACT! “Did you know Mrs. Meade is believed to be a distant relative of none other than Tornado Girl?” A split screen shows Betty on a BBC set, and Betty at the ghastly post-tornado press conference. “I don’t see the resemblance, but stranger branches have showed up on the Meade family tree. Take for example Jason Meade, long-lost son of Claire Meade and financier Cal Hartley - who has been in hiding with his wife ever since Jason’s attempt to firebomb his mansion. Currently in psychiatric rehabilitation at the same maximum-security facility holding Suri Cruise, Jason’s apparently persona non grata with his family these days, but who can say when he’ll get back in their good graces? Remember when retired editor Wilhelmina Slater and Daniel Meade were doing battle for control of the magazine? Now she’s the head of operations for Meade Publications worldwide, and rumor has it she’s an honored guest at the Meade family Christmas celebration next week!”

**

Marc walks into the Meade mansion alone. There have been guys since Troy, even guys who stuck around a long time, but at this point he accepts that this is the way his life is going to be. A single orchid in a Waterford vase. A Soho studio. Table for one. But at least he always has someplace to spend the holidays.

“Marc!” Amanda comes dashing toward him and literally jumps on him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his knees. It’s not as easy for them to do this as it was a decade ago, but he’ll take this greeting as long as she can give it. “Where have you been? You’re totally late. I’m mad at you. Okay, I’m over it. There are all these little chocolate things on the trays; you have to try one.”

“I’ll smell them. You know I have to watch my calories when I’m on the prowl.”

“Stop prowling for boys and start eating.” Amanda has been living by this credo for a few years now; she’s pleasantly rounded after several years of marriage to Tyler, in a way that makes it clear how secure - and happy - she feels. “I’m going to find us the chicken kabobs guy. Be right back!”

Apparently, according to Daniel, the Meade mansion was a forbidding place when they were growing up in it - back when Bradford ruled them with an iron fist, and Claire was still on the sauce. But it’s warm now, welcoming: despite the building’s grandeur, it is obviously a home.

Ruthie Hartley is chatting with Claire Meade and Ignacio Suarez, both of whom are edging from older to elderly, but they’re as energetic as ever tonight. Although they’ve never had any romantic connection - at least, so far as Marc knows and devoutly hopes, because, dear God, the mental images are terrifying - they’ve become the mother and father of this annual gathering, and everyone who comes to it.

A little farther away, Matt is talking with Hilda and DJ. Hilda is perhaps describing one of the elaborate hairstyles she’s designed for Miss Thing, because her hands are making broad swirls around her head, and the guys are laughing hard.

Tyler is drinking icewater while Spencer sips something harder. “Evil twins are tough to handle,” Spencer says. “The best thing to do is drive off a bridge and vanish until the next sweeps period.” Tyler sighs heavily.

Then there’s Daniel - slightly gray at the temples, now, and wearing a pair of glasses not unlike Betty’s - standing next to Connor. Marc’s close enough to overhear a bit of their conversation. Connor says, “The blue lights on the tree - they remind me -“

“Molly’s favorite.” Daniel’s voice is fond. “Like the ones she always wanted when she was a little girl.”

“If I were a believing man, I’d say she had them now.”

“I’m enough of a believing man to say that she does.”

Connor smiles. “Hope you’re right.” They toast Molly with their champagne.

Stephanie comes running through in her green velvet party dress, until Bobby grabs her by the elbow. “How many times do I have to tell you, princess, no running in the house! Especially not the house with lots of expensive breakable things in it! Oh, hey, Marc. Catch me in a minute, huh?” He then twirls his daughter around, as if she were a ballerina, and she giggles.

Although there’s soft music playing, only one couple is dancing: Alexis and Gareth, who don’t seem to notice anybody else is in the room. Alexis is three inches taller than him - even without the heels she’s refused to give up wearing - but Gareth has apparently never cared.

And then there’s Betty. She’s out and out glamorous now, albeit in her own way; Marc privately considers her style of dress “fabu-horrible,” a bizarre mixture of the ridiculous and the sublime. But it’s become a trademark of hers, so much so that there are people in Britain who actually try to copy it. Tonight she’s in a zebra-striped wrap dress and brilliant red shoes, which in Marc’s opinion is stronger on the “fabu” half. At the moment, she only has eyes for the boy in her lap.

“Roberto, sit still for just one second,” she admonishes her squirming three-year-old as she smoothes his hair. “We’re going to take a picture in a few minutes. Don’t you want to look nice in your picture?” Roberto, who obviously could not care less, happily munches on a Christmas cookie. Then she sees Marc. “Hey! Where have you been? Justin’s been asking for you.”

“Transitioning to your crazy brainchild of the future, of course. Also waiting for gift wrapping at Bloomie’s, which, my God, I should’ve gotten in line last July.” He looks down at the small boy in her lap, who grins up at him in return. “Gorgeous kid you have there. He looks just like Daniel.”

“You always say that.”

“That’s a relief, huh?”

“You always say that too.” Betty smiles and pats Marc on the arm. The old barbs are just a game between them now, have been for years.

“Finally,” says Justin.

Marc looks over to see him - 25 years old now. He’s a handsome guy, slim and dark, as anybody would have predicted, but he’s also a happy one, which Marc had been worried about once upon a time. Instead, confidence shines from him - a young gay man who’s flourished in the love he’s been given, and suffered from less hate than Marc once would ever have thought possible. Sometimes seeing Justin’s good fortune awakens Marc’s self-pity - why couldn’t he have had a tenth of that? - but mostly, he’s just grateful. He thinks Justin’s happiness means more to him than his own. “Well, hold me closer, tiny dancer. How are you?”

“I’m not so tiny, and I’m a featured dancer, thank you very much. When are you coming to see the show? You’re not allowed to miss my Broadway debut.”

“As soon as I can get a date. Although that might be never.” Marc sighs. “So I’ll suck it up and get my butt there next week.”

“Still worried about your love life! It’s past time for some crisis counseling. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

“Don’t take too long.” There’s a glint in Betty’s eyes as she says it, one Marc can’t quite decipher - mischief, perhaps. “We need you two in the photo.”

They bypass the bartenders and venture into the wine cellar, which is a bit odd, but after all these years, Marc figures Justin’s got access. Justin selects a bottle but doesn’t immediately head back upstairs. “I haven’t seen enough of you since I got back to New York.”

“Blame your aunt and uncle. This Flexview thing has destroyed my soul, my relationship with Gregg and my schedule. Well, destroyed my schedule. My relationship with Gregg died of the usual causes, and my soul’s existence has never been proved.”

Something in the tilt of Justin’s head makes it clear that he found that particularly interesting, though Marc can’t guess why. “So, you’re single again.”

“Again. No need to be surprised, since this is the same place I always end up.”

“Not always,” Justin says. “There’s someone in the world who’s going to love you for the rest of your life. Forever.”

“You always say that, and he’s never shown up.”

Justin steps a little closer. “I always say that, because I’ve been here the whole time.”

It’s like that trick in cartoons, where the coyote keeps running across thin air until he realizes the rock isn’t beneath him any longer. Marc feels like he’s stuck in the moment where the coyote holds up the sign that says OOPS! “Justin - I - you’re not serious.”

“When I was a kid, I figured it was a crush,” Justin says. “Also, you know, you were an adult and I wasn’t, so, seriously not right. I never said anything.”

“I knew you when you were practically fetal. This is impossible.”

“I’m an adult now. We’re about the same difference in age as Uncle Daniel and Aunt Betty. And I’ve learned the difference between a crush and love. This is love. I just have to prove it to you.”

Marc can’t wrap his mind around it. This is the single most staggering thing that’s happened in his life since he came out to his mother, although this feels like that in reverse: Shock shifting not into horror, but into wonder. But no, no, he can’t let himself be happy about this. “Justin, you know how much I care about you. How much I’m always going to care about you.”

“Which is part of my point.”

“And you know that I always screw it up. Even if - even if I got there, even if we became involved, I’d find a way to ruin it. Don’t ask me to ruin what I have with you.” Marc realized a long time ago that his relationship with Justin is the healthiest in his whole life.

Justin takes Marc’s hand in his, the touch charged in a way it never was before. “You’ll try to ruin it, but you won’t be able to. Because I know you, Marc. I know your petty side and your bitchy side and just how hard you’re going to fight this. And I also know that underneath, you have the most amazingly good heart. I’ve held on for that heart for about a decade now. I know how to hold on tight.” Their eyes meet, and Justin lifts his chin, defiant. “Go ahead. Try to resist me. You don’t stand a chance.”

There’s a moment’s silence, and Marc feels as though his entire life up to this point might only have been prelude.

Then Justin grins as he starts pulling Marc up the stairs. “Come on. They’re calling us for the photo.”

Still in a daze, Marc flows back into the throng. Everyone’s getting adjusted, grabbing their kids, choosing their place. Alexis and Tyler, the tallest, head toward the middle, while the kids are shepherded in the front. Gareth and DJ start horsing around and have to be shushed by Stephanie, who can be a very prim young lady when she wants. Daniel starts to take off his glasses, but Betty stops him. “Don’t you dare,” she says. “We finally match.”

“When you put it that way, I like them better.” Daniel smiles at her as if matching Betty could possibly be a good thing. Then again, Marc reasons, time Bettyfies us all.

Wilhelmina takes Marc’s arm. “You. Next to me. You always set off my profile well.” Then she frowns. “Have you switched to a lighter foundation? You’re looking pale.”

“I just had one of the strangest experiences of my life.” He can’t believe he’s saying this, but who can he tell if not Willie? “Also possibly one of the best.”

“Funny how those sometimes go together.” She holds another hand out to Connor as he joins her.

They’re almost assembled by the time Amanda takes her place on his other side. “Thank God you’re here,” she says. “I mean, I love my long tall hubby, and believe me, the emphasis is on long, but next to him I look like some stunted elf person.”

“I feel weird,” he confesses. “Why am I even in this photo?”

“Dumbass. This is a family portrait,” Amanda says. “Where else would you be?”

Across the gathering, Justin smiles at him.

And flash.

THE END

( Part One
Part Two
Part Three)